Today, while browsing a few diaries, I came upon a few poems written in 2017, by my 12 year old self. There aren’t that nice, but I decided to give my little self a chance. So here is a poem by hers, not a single word changed by me. (That time, I used to read a lot of classics, so it had a tint of olden days 🙂

Unversed Prose

O Great Scholar! Not a wise man as thou
Why then ask a fellow boy, write verse- form of prose?
Why make a flow confined in lines?
Why stake a blow of compelled rhyme?
Why divide theboundary-less, free moving words in narrow groups of fours?
Why then, asks a fellow boy write verse-form of prose

O Great Scholar! Not a wise man as thou
Can’t you see he inner beauty, of an unversed prose?
The lines are independent, wherever they roam,
Why burn with shiftingwords and turn them into foam?
The words that flow ever where, without limitor fear, why rules you impose?
Can’t you see the inner beauty, of an unversed prose?

O Great Scholar,! Not a wise man as thou
Can’t you see, verse goes with poetry, but not with prose?
Do you not realise,poetry is the free spirit which lives after death?
Do you not realise, verse is just the body who is left in the berth?
Why can’t you unite the body and soul, and remove the burden you force?
Can’t you see, verse goes with poetry, but not with prose?

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Written from the perspective of a medieval prince, Dai, of Mhokaizi (spelled Ho-kai-zee) empire from Cygnet.