R S Prasanna

Spam that tries to be literature.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Gift Maker

Some would call her a fool - Jumping over the moon
For a measly gift from her miserly lover

As in all things she does
She saw value
In a tiny piece of paper
In badly sribbled hand,

On her birthday too
It was she who gave;

She saw something that wasn't even there.

Her eyes painted the gold
Her soul threw in star dust
Her pounding heart, gave the music
Her smile lent the aura
And thus a gift she shaped
From out of thin, soggy, air

By God, if only I had known
My audience was more of an artist than me
I would have not been so miserly.
I hate competition,
Especially when I lose!