Treasure Island

Abdul Wahab


***My Baby


I post
on regular basis
on sites and webs

Hook to poetry
And Facebook

One lady
Closely one day
Saw different styles
And Said ' you are genius''
' it is your generosity '' I answered

Rhymes and form
haiku and tanka
cinquin and henka
cheating
on my erected emotions


Have you not heard yet
The movement
Of Dadaism?

Bluff!
Truth can not be confined
Lies could be spread with seductive schemes
Styles are interwoven
With themes
Floating of words
Duality in use
Brave attempt
On brevity and experiment
more important
than sordid death -delaying stunt
(jerking sound words)
with obtuse pattern

flexibility kills stiffness
like exercises
of the wind
the creative use
of sound
increases the sweetness of your
tone and textures
voice and emotions
redundancy and repetition
are like beating drums
intelligent persons
caught unwanted
as deaf and dump

some are without sound
food for thought
totally cerebral
for the nerd intellectual

an art
you can not follow
none can be taught
create your own
style
individual identity
unique
grown and built
golden weed
on your own field

break the concept
to create an imagery
method old fashion
leap and jumps
in thought and logic
non- continuity
is the modern technique

open ended
mode of expression
inter text-tuality
deconstruction
oh! I am in love
with Derida
and in hate with certainty
and prediction
wow! sweet smell of juxtaposition

do not
build your house
on a plain plot
do not talk flat
climb to the high cliff
throw
with twists and curves
on the unfortunate even faces
with the broken pieces
of the picture
and cliché phrases

each word
a tricky trap
to a bird
a code to the world
a treasure with many layers
year after year
forever for a bard

you can not done away with the breath,
the devices, make sure your baby
is an avant garde
with each and
every new
piece

the
experiences
moulded inside the heart
come out as a truth from the mouth
with beautiful figure and sweet sound
of speech you astonished astounded amazed
and excited with it's beauty people call it poetry..









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baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby

Submitted: Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Edited: Saturday, June 08, 2013

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Comments about this poem (***My Baby by Abdul Wahab )

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  • Heather Wilkins (5/20/2013 1:51:00 PM)

    Poetry is our baby that we each should treat with a lot of thought and care. If we take care of it. it will take care of us in return. Expression is a great gift to have bestowed upon us. With great respect I bow to my muse. A lovely write about your baby. love this poem. (Report) Reply

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