To My Man (Portrait) Poem by Valsa George
To My Man (Portrait)
Growing out from childish pranks,
With the storm and stress of turbulent teens,
I locked within my mind’s cupboard,
A portrait vaguely sketched, but never finished.
Rough it was, though fancifully done,
The silhouette of a masculine figure,
The Gallant who would reach one day,
To hold my hand and own me his.
I had no inkling who he would,
Yet had fallen in love with that phantasmal figure,
He had dazzling eyes and sturdy limbs,
With striking features, ravishing to view,
Elusive ever to sight and touch,
He remained an enigma, abstract to grasp.
At times his contours grew distinct,
But soon blanched out into hazy lines,
When a covert devouring look,
Or a pair of intent adoring eyes,
Sent a thrill down my fickle heart,
I forced open my chest nut draw,
And took out stealthily that half done sketch,
Hidden out from world’s staring glance,
To alter the features one by one,
And make it resemble the man I met,
Either within a moving train,
Or sometimes in an elite gang,
Who derailed my thoughts in pensive mood,
And tickled my fancy to heave and sigh.
He made me turn and toss in bed,
And left me, many a sleepless night,
He stroked my heart with gladdening ache,
And made me lose in sweet reverie.
In the nick of time, he solemnly came,
To hold my hand and tie the knot,
With pounding heart and quivering breath,
I found him differ from the man I dreamt.
The fabulous fabric in my loom,
Looked at variance from the one unfurled,
Transfixed between fact and fallacy,
I struggled to hide a falling tear.
Time marched on in silent haste,
And I learnt to outgrow my childish whims,
Sagacity dawned with passing age,
Making me discern the real from the sham.
It made me admire his sanguine self.
On fathomed deep beyond external mien,
I saw him unveiled in taint less worth,
That made my heart pine in love.
Piecing together our halved selves,
With the glue of love, our identities merged,
Now he is with me in my blues,
Consoling me with his balmy touch,
He is with me in my joy,
Making it resonant with a hearty laugh,
He is there when storms rage,
Whispering in my ear, not to fear,
He taught me how to savour life,
To meet the slings with radiant cheer,
Now the image is etched deep,
Never to erase, nor to revise!
And the old portrait locked within,
Grew so musty, bereft of use,
In its place, I keep within,
His solid figure in indelible print.
A fusion of romance & realism, and... a Must Read for all the girls in teens! ! !
This poem is honest, down to earth. I liked what Shahzia Batool described as 'a fusion of romance & realism' and the ease with which you made the fusion. 'And the old portrait locked within, Grew so musty, bereft of use, In its place, I keep within, His solid figure in indelible print.' Sweet and beautiful.
Wow~ I love this! Its like taking the journey from dating and having unfinished warped perceptions of who a person is, to marrying them, living with them, and loving the real them. That's an amazing thing to find in a poem! Also I love this idea of the unfinished portrait being replaced with the real solid figure himself. This is simply beautiful to read. Its not something I've experienced, but reading this poem makes me want to! ~Nika
Wonderful poem, a journey from our teenage dreams to our mature wisdom, the hazy portrait of our dream man changing till we find our wisdom to see the qualities of the real man in life.Very nicely presented the poem is an absolute beauty.
BREAKING NEWS! ! Valsa is again providing " Add this poem to MyPoemList" . it is just after your poem. i discovered the good news on another poet's site. and now yours actually is ON the PH-provided list. bri :)
3 – line 45 sanguine “adjective1. optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation.” I like it, and the “sanguine self” alliteration Line 47 taint less OR taintless? Last four stanzas are “touching”, or “romantic”. Very nice. Is the story TRUE? To MyPoemList Bri :)
2 - line 36 " I found him differ from the man I dreamt" How about " he differed" , or " him different" ? stanzas 10 & 11 are my favorites so far ;) (cont.)
1 - line 8 maybe delete " his" line 9 " would" what? line 12 ravishing " delightful; entrancing" NICE! ME? line 20 i found a poker game hand reference to " nut draw" but perhaps in India " chest nut draw" refers to a brassiere? line 32 " lose" your mind or composure? . (cont.)
Its really a portrait of dreams and life, fantasy and truth. Its natural to dream about our life partner, especially in our teens. To make our minds content with what God gifts is love and life. Great vision on life!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 2:44:34 AM # 1.0.0.1119
That is not the story of a particular person. We all make an image of our ideal life partner during our teen age During my teen age I cut into pieces many girls and movie stars brutally. Took Hair from Sharmila Tagore, eyes from Suchitra Sen, lips from Saira Bano, and many other things from Sadhna, Asha Parekh, and my college mates, etc., etc.But when a creeper embraced and encircled me the image was magically changed within a very short period. After reading your poem I tried to recollect that brutally made image but I failed. The image of truth and reality when makes its room in our brains the past is only sometimes recollected in dreams when our conscious is sleeping.