by Madirekshana Chakraborty
You cannot be a smith with words, ***
You cannot mould them into arrowheads as the iron master does,
Or set them ablaze to spew fire like the warrior,
To master the art of writing poetry (badly written, though it is),
You need to thieve-
Steal the first unabashed 'I love you' from a drunken lover's sodden lips,
Meant not for you, but for another,
A rosy cheeked girl,
Prettier and kinder than me though she may be,
She can't steal anything but naive boy's hearts,
Let alone his own words.
Obtain the words that have never been yours,
Revel in the fact that they now belong to you,
A stolen writing prompt-
Urging you to write without association,
A flowing ink pen blotting words he once used to stutter and say,
His sweaty palms wreaking in a first love's angst,
But not for you.
Never for you.