The Poem I have No Right to Write

Hey,

This was part of a writing exercise at a spoken word workshop in pif. We were asked to write "The Poem I have No Right to Write". We were also given three random words picked from the dictionary to use and mine were rush,mix and install. As usual I came up with nonsense verse. The writing time for this thing was 15 minutes so excuse the... ah you'll see.

The title "On a Lighter Note" comes from the fact that everyone else there wrote more serious things. Heh.

The Poem I have No Right to Write / On a lighter note

Once in the land of far away peace,
Which writers and poets and other slime grease,
A man came with a clan and a plan,
And boxes and tissues and a peroxide tan.

He claimed to write of love and fiction,
Of grimoires and ladles and drug-addiction,
But in all his mix of prose and diction,
He never once saw the frame of completion.

Then one day he wrote and wrote in a rush,
His eyes were red, his cheeks were flushed,
His brilliant idea had come to hand,
He could finally use his tissues and plan.

He built a machine made of ladles and glue,
And paper and apples and lots of tissue,
He told his colleagues he had come to install,
A magical machine made to move and enthral.

“All you poets and writers alike,
Should place your greatest works upon this spike,
And when the machine begins to churn,
Produce it will, the greatest book in the world.

Of course the poets and writers were thrilled,
How brilliant it would be, their very blood chilled.
And they placed their greatest works upon the spike,
And waited all day, waited all night.

And then the machine churned out a tome,
The greatest the world had ever known,
Artists everywhere of the highest calibre,
Were enraged and astounded, their blood on fire.

The book brought on war and evolutionary change,
And everyone fought, their eyes were strange,
Lit by the light of both war and peace,
Two minds as one, one mind at ease.

After a hundred years or so of war,
The land of poets and writers once more,
Was at peace with itself, the book was destroyed,
The velvet and moccasins once more overjoyed.

Only one oath now, had everyone to swear,
Neither to speak nor write upon the fairest of fair,
The greatest of all books had been banished,
Its author disappeared, the machine vanished.

And this is why I must fear for my life,
Runaway from my home, with children and wife,
With heroes and mages, and mistresses of might,
As I’m writing the poem I have no right to write.


-Mayank Daswani



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