Cacophonix!

Poetry. Commonly associated with intense godly affection, failed romances and the 'my intellect is stuffed up my behind but i chose to think that it's above your head' syndrome. Even the whole daffodil deal with Wordsworth. It was torturous reading it again and again in school. I mean, saale, if I do want to mull over over yellow dufferdils on hilltops or cow dung piles, Id take the shortest route to shimla or 'kullu-manali' (janani haven) and sit staring at the philawer until people think I've lost it. What's sad is that poetry escapes the purpose it is written for. Hell, mostly it's because it is published, causing severe brain impairment to all the unfortunate souls who are made to read it. A look at the psyche of people who do chose to spend their time trying to rhyme the 'who' with the 'poo' reveals a different tale. The romantics usually attribute the philawer in their poem with the object of their affection, for example:

She smelt like a beautiful flower, (yeah fucker, she's either dead or now she's started smelling like cowdung)
Her hairs were like a fresh rain shower (hmmm... mandakini, zeenat aman.. we're still guessing)
Sometimes I wish I could feel her power (K this guy has it up already.. No... No... Nooooo!)
I hate to lie down without her in my tower (Kill the pig! Slit his throat!)

The extra-godly ones always land up in a soup and then beg for forgiveness for the nth time. The other half usually wants something in exchange for halwa, jalebi and ladoos unwillingly distributed to the poor who no doubt have the time of their lives. For more information type 'Chanchal' on google... ahem.. "Maa, murade poori karde, halwa baatongi" There's always a condition, right? Maa.... Fulfill my desires and I will distribute halwa. Abe chutiye! Satta khel raha hai kya?

That leaves us with the 'my intellect is stuffed up my behind but i chose to think that it's above your head' variety. This reminds me of the time my sister was editing her college magazine. Lord, it so epitomized this. One such character had written something titled 'The trailer in the sailor'... now as much as I hate not having saved a copy of the magazine for future laugh attacks (and choking and dying) and for putting my point across to the unfortunate reader, I do fortunately, remember a few lines...

The shore is high, the waves are low,
The sailor is high, the ship is on smoke,
But sailor is brave and fishes are too,
The Sailor is watching the trailers too.

Need I say more? A lifetime isn't enough to loath poetry, even if it's half good. Man, for all those theatre artists who swear by Shakespeare, I have but one thing to say to you:

"Where the bee sucks, there suck I.... On a cowslips... " (yeah I know it's a philawer dumbass) ahem ahem

Right, so.. ahem it's either sexual undertones in what ever I read or Shak-es-peare was one horny fucker.

On a more serious note, I feel it's more than pleasing when it's genuine, simple and well something that you really care or feel about... a cause, an emotion and blah... BUT NOT A BLOODY DAFFODIL!