Subject:      he who maligns free verse (was Re: SILENCE WAS HER GAME, MADNESS WAS HER NAME)
From:         Anurag Acharya <acha@bookworm.cs.umd.edu>
Date:         1996/11/13
Message-Id:   <qk683ak0js.fsf_-_@bookworm.cs.umd.edu>
Newsgroups:   soc.culture.indian,alt.culture.us.asian-indian,soc.culture.tamil



Samir my boy, valiant fellow,
Is down on free verse;
Now he hisses, now he bellows
"no poem, not hers!"

I blame him not (the poor soul)
Freud has long told us,
When we learn to hit the bowl
Weight descends on our shoulders.

Once that horror happened to him
His freedom was all gone.
His creative urge went gradually dim,
The society had, sadly, won.

No matter how many years shall pass
The shadow shall remain,
Every one that tries free verse
He will try his best to pain.

Strange is the way of the human mind
As Ranga often tells me.
Too late in to our life we find
The bowl governs our mind, si.

anurag