A Poetaster's Versification of being Common

This is a "poem" by a poetaster - an impostor - a pathetic mimicry of the concept of a public man. But this is also about the crisis of displaying emotion in public. The poem was written after listening to a popular song by a 'common' anonymous singer.



My hands weeping

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When the chords tell the stories
In meager words, amid much
Heaving and longingly
Fill the room with the gushes of
Yesteryears’ balmy breath and thou –
Take shape without calling
Lighter than a shadow riding a passing whisper
And none but I see you pass by.

The drizzle stops without anyone’s ever
Being aware as they hoot and stand at ovation
And I look downwards with a head fallen
My hands weeping
As if in humbleness
It is only a personal tale I hide.
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