Sunday, December 26, 2010

Advise needed on writing




 Dear friends and readers,
 I am currently working on my first novel. I have been trying to continue writing but I am having trouble keeping up with the plot due confusions. The problem is that i cannot decide whether to write my novel in first or third person. I know that both POV have advantages and disadvantages.  I personally feel that the first person conveys directly the message to the reader but for some reason i am unable to continue writing the novel in first person. Moreover, when I try to rewrite a chapter in third person, I feel like something vital in the story has been lost. Due to those complications, I am starting to think that I should abandon my current novel but I have come so far and I am certain that it will be a success if written correctly.

Is it better to write a romance novel in first or third person? Do you know some tips to help me in the novel writing process? By the way, I have written many short stories before but this is my first novel. If you are willing to read parts of my novel in progress and provide your feedback, please leave your email address in the comment box below or email me at morykeita94@gmail.com

Best Regards,
Mory


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Wednesday, December 1, 2010

A propos de l'amour et de la Beauté

Est-il possible d’aimer  sans beauté ou de voir de la beauté sans l’amour ? Par beauté, je parle de l’apparence physique et par amour, du sentiment qui nous rajeunis. Les anciens maitres de philosophie et de science nous apprennent que l’amour est une manifestation de la beauté. Alors, je me demande que ’ce qui manifeste l’amour. Es la beauté ?  Soyons raisonnable, est-il possible de séparer les deux ? Peut-on imaginer même l’amour sans une couverture de beauté ? 
La découverte de la signification du mot «  amour » est certes une tache qui demande de la patience et de ferveur et surtout de l’expérience. Cette expérience, à mon avis, vient avec le temps. Ces implications nous apparaissent et changent comme des saisons. C’est une alternance qui nous fait questionner l’existence d’une réalité. Par-là, je parle de réalité amoureuse et non pas de la connaissance du sentiment en elle-même.
Je ne me considère de n’importe quelle façon comme un charmant garçon, ni cime une personne avec une connaissance du monde de la science ou de la poésie qui égal celle des Socrate, Newton, Platon et Baudelaire. Ma connaissance et compréhension de l’amour n’est pas livresque et elle ne dérive nullement d’un expriment scientifique ou d’une sensation poétique, mais de leçons j’ai tiré de mes expérience amoureuses. Alors, cher lecteurs, Que penser vous de l’amour et elle reconnaissable ? Pourquoi ou pourquoi pas ?







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Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Penelope --- A poem

By Mory Keita



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A day without my love is a day without sunshine,
And a night spent without him is a starless night.
Sunsets and sunrises do but, like the sea, part us.
Stars shadow compared to his beauty and majesty,
Moon and sun, perched there above Olympus like clouds,
Envy our eternal happiness for all are but paltry jewelries.
Light and dark are but cruel illusion to compress our love.
Why should we abide by the laws of nature?
Why should we rest our love on these seashores?
A day without my love is eternity spent in solitude,
And night spent without him is like a barren horizon.

Fight my love, O my brave king, rage like wounded wind.
I shall wait for your return on every Ithacan seashore singing;
Singing with wounded wind songs of thou lost and return,
“O there he comes, there he stands, and there is my love,”
Fight my love like the wind, for thou heart art ageless.
O Olympians when shall thou return my love to my heart?
For like a falling star, my heart sinks into seas of sorrow.



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Saturday, October 9, 2010

I,Mory,Thor

        
          He firmly stood atop a giant skyscraper in downtown New York, observing the streets, contemplating the empire of peace he has created. An empire ruled by him, king of kings, Monarch of monarchs, Caliphs of caliphs, and God of gods- him the Punisher. As he walked down the crowded street, his name was constantly hailed by ignorant, fearful simpletons, “All hail the Punisher, we are thy humble servants." He glorified himself for bringing chaos, which he called peace, along with his demonic steps. He called dictatorship, democracy, chaos, peace and the world, his eternal kingdom. To symbolize his supremacy over the city, he replaced the head of the status of liberty with his own and placed his giant status atop the Empire State building.

          But behold! His reign of terror was to come to an end when I,Mory,Thor, god of thunder rebelled against him. I went to his “celestial palace” one early morning, defeated his guards with my godly fury. Then, I shouted at him “Give up, the punisher. Your reign of terror is over".
" Terror?" he replied mockingly “I bring peace to this world and the people like me."
"Come out of your cage, fight me coward if thou are deserving of thy name." I furiously yelled at him.
" Prepare to confront my fury", he instantly replied.

          He suddenly threw his smelly body upon me and we began fighting. After endless hours of intense fighting, I finally smacked him with my mighty hammer and thunder stroke him. He perished like a vulture. With rebellious bravery, I brought real "peace" to the world and vanquish forever chaos.

          Since that memorable event that defined the faith of mankind, humans are still hailing my name “All hail Mory,Thor, our Savior."

Note: This is piece of writing is purely fictional. To learn more about Thor,encourage you to click here to read the Wikipedia article.
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Saturday, August 28, 2010

Supreme understanding



By Mory Keita


The horizon appears far above my head,
The sun gleams without end behind cloudy curtains,
Like some eternal flame blown by an eternal being.

Beyond my sight lie comets, stars and distant galaxies.
Is it reasonable if one seek things beyond one’s  comprehension?
If one was to ponder upon the unknown, the unseen?
If one was to say, all things can be seen through the mind?

I have seen a ladder spreading from continent to continent,
I have seen all there is to be seen on earth, and I wasn’t amazed.

Should I build a ladder spreading from earth to heaven?
Should I climb it to see the farthest corners of the universe?
Is it possible to understand the universe, to spread it across a table?
Perhaps, there is no such things as supreme understand; not in this world.


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Monday, August 23, 2010

Regarde mon amour


Par Mory Keita


Regarde dans  mes yeux  mon amour,
Vois-tu cette lumière  éclairant mon visage,
Sur le flan droit de ma joue, me vois-tu sourire ?
Regarde le ciel étoilé, et les oiseaux qui chantent,
Entends-tu ton nom sur leurs petites lèvres ?
It chantent de ta beauté, et seulement  d’elle.


English translation


Look in my eyes my love
,Do you see that light shining on my face,
On the right flank of my cheek, you see me smile?
Look at the starry sky and the birds sing,
Do you hear your name on their lips?Sing your beauty It, and only her.


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Thursday, August 19, 2010

Tales of an idle man



By Mory Keita

For many a century, I have plucked and pocked my nose,
Slept and visited place I did not visit or sleep at.
I have visited Caesar’s palace in Rome and sat at his dinner table.
I flew on a flying carpet to India and sat atop the Taj Mahal.
I have lived fairy tales and saved a princess from a evil dragon.
Then relaxing my muscles, I suddenly was transported in Egypt,
And felt in love with Cleopatra, fought with Mark Antoine and Caesar.
In short I have lived and traveled across the Milky Way in a hot bathtub,
And I have lived my life to the fullest like the great Ulysses.


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Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Spring of youth



By Mory Keita

The springs and summers of our days are spread across this seashore
Like some lonely drunkard lost in the sweetness of his beverage.
Shall we see ere the end those unseen moons and sunsets,
Those wasted times lived with dullness in lieu of vagabondage?
Perhaps there is redemption, a magic defying the laws of physic,
At some place I have heard of long ago during some trivialities;
At some shrouded place pours water from a fountain that renew the vow of youth.
Perhaps we might find it accompanied by some old companions  
If we sail the sea and travel across earth like Jason and the Argonauts.
Guided by venus, we may find that trio of one-eyes crones,
Those ageless creatures said to know everything that lies on earth.

Will thou come with me delicate flower of saintly days?
Let us sail hand in hand and heart in heart under the moonlight
Like sunrises and sunsets, springs and summers to that oasis of youth.
Let us run away from these insolent sights of youths and nurses.
Under thousands smiling faces of constellations and stars,
Walking On the trail of Venus listening to love songs and tales of heroes,
Perhaps we may found that fountain of youth and regain our juvenilities
And live those springs and summers that lie across these seas.
It may be we shall not return from this odyssey or find the spring
And live again those unlived days as I forebode,
But we shall see some sparkles of adventurous days we missed long ago.


Shared with One Stop Poetry.

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Friday, August 13, 2010

Staring at a blank paper


By Mory Keita


I stare at a blank paper spreading beneath my pen,
As I ponder upon some lines of little meaning.
Just beside my pen lies another blank paper,
Staring at me with tears as if imploring my mercy,
 Or Waiting for some transforming drops of ink.

I pity it much, for though I would like to fulfill its wish,
My head is as blank as its surface, maybe blanker.
I vainly try to write some lines as a sign of generosity,
But what should I write? How should I begin?
I am not T.S Eliot or a Shakespeare; I am no genius.
I cannot paint on it lines worthy of remembrance,
neither do I wish to abandon it like some worthless junk.
Should I ignore its pleads and shamefully bow my head?
Is it my fault if I cannot write without muse? I know not.

I am not a writer; neither do I intend to become one.
But, as long as I feel a pen in my hand, an inner voice murmurs,
 “You may not be Shakespeare or T.S Eliot or do not wish to be,
But you will always have something to write as long as you believe.”

Now I look at the blank paper beside my pen, still staring at me,
And say to myself “if I have nothing  worthy to write,
I shall write what comes to my mind as long as I breathe.”
Thus, I took my pen and began writing these first lines.


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Sunday, August 8, 2010

Hiroshima Today


By Mory Keita


In sky flew a bird-like object like falling star,
The children stood in owe contemplating it.
It was a bird,one they hadn’t seen before,
One which magic they hadn’t experienced yet.
They stood side by side, hands in hand smiling,
Smiling at the odd birds above their heads,
They pointed their fingers at the bird, jumping of joy.
How could they know why it flew in the sky?

They saw the bird dropping an egg-like object,
In their excitements,they jumped and jumped.
Few seconds after the bird-like object reached ground,
And a curtain of smoke and dust covered the visions.
In few seconds, their dreams were gone away,
Their homes and schools were destroyed in fire;
Their lives were taken in a war they had no part in.

What began as a peacefully day ended an atrocity,
Anything that flies isn’t indeed a bird.
What happened to theirs dreams? Why them?
Has mankind lost its humanity?





I would like to thank Sam Lui for reminding many others and myself about history.
i encourage you to check Sam's poem from which I got my inspiration.

Sam writes: August 6th is Hiroshima today, and marches across the world have signified this solemn occasion - commemorating the atrocities caused by the use of catastrophic nuclear weapons on Japan during World War II. Please take a moment to consider this: we are one human race, we share thoughts and feelings, dreams and desires. War is an evil. Together, we can stop the rise of nuclear weaponry. Spread peace, not destruction.
Add you plea at www.millionpleas.com.

Shared with one stop poetry.

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Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Carpe diem



By Mory Keita

When ye shall grow old from old ages,
In thirty falling seasons of leafy days,
Ye shall not be yerself as ye desire,
Under leaves yer soul shall grow old too:
In summer ye shall walk under falling leaves,
Seeking yer old self under breezy winds,
But ye shall not find muse in its beauty,
For yer summer days shall grow old too.
In winter ye shall walk under falling snow,
Ye shall be alone in cold days in a coat,
Alas! cold shall  whelm yer endurance,
For yer bones shall grow old of old days.
Beware of old ages, live yer youth in warmth,
For ye shall never live these days once more.


Modern Version  ( i have been told that i am too much old-fashioned.)



When you will grow old from old ages,
In thirty falling seasons of leafy days,
You will not be yourself as you desire,
Under leaves your soul will grow old too:
In summer you will walk under falling leaves,
Seeking your old self under breezy winds,
But you will not find muse in its beauty,
For your summers days will grow old too.
In winter you will walk under falling snow,
You shall be alone in cold days with a coat,
Alas! Cold shall over power your endurance,
For your bones will grow old of old days.
Beware of old ages, live your youth under sun,
You will never live these seasons once more.


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Monday, August 2, 2010

I Missed His Book , But I Read His Name














A parody of John Updike's poem I Missed His Book, But I Read His Name By Mory Keita

Though author are a savage people
To be guillotined if you can,
I’d like to spare the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.

I picture him as short and cherry.
We’d meet, perhaps, in Bombay.
I’d yell, with clumsy elan,
“Ah, Antanarayanan --

I’ve heard of you, the Bounty hunter once bade
denars on your head, a
Bountiful sum and renown. “
And Anantanarayanan

Would bride me with a novel
And sign his name – that unmelodious span
Of ‘a’s and ‘n’s more lovely than
‘In xanadu, Kuban khan smoking pipe”--

Aloud to me all season. I plan
Henceforth to spare the life
Of Anantanarayanan----
M.Anantanarayanan.


Below is the original poem by the great John Updike.


I Missed His Book But I Read His Name by John Updike



Though authors are a dreadful clan
To be avoided if you can,
I'd like to meet the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.

I picture him as short and tan.
We'd meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
I'd say, with admirable elan ,
"Ah, Anantanarayanan --

I've heard of you. The Times once ran
A notice on your novel, an
Unusual tale of God and Man."
And Anantanarayanan

would seat me on a lush divan
and read his name -- that sumptuous span
of 'a's and 'n's more lovely than
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan" --

Aloud to me all day. I plan
Henceforth to be an ardent fan
of Anantanarayanan --
M. Anantanarayanan.

Note: This poem is one of my favorites. i like it so much that i sometime recite it in bed. it happens that updide didn't intend to write this poem to the more know M.Anantanarayanan but another person with the same name
.
Shared with the One Stop Poetry community.

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The road ahead







                                                        By Mory Keita

I feel life in my skin and heart,
I feel its winds blowing north, south, west and east,
I feel its sorrow consuming my heart, darkening my soul.

I see life, atop mountains and down valleys,
I see its tears falling down valleys like a river,
I see its roads through the steps of ancients and stories,
I see its ladder spreading from earth to heavens.

Knowing the road ahead shivers my heart,
I know it will be hard and steep to climb,
I know my destination is far and uncertain,
But I shall not give up; I shall climb and climb,
I shall advance against the wind, I shall withstand the sorrow.
For I know that I am destined to greatness,
I know that I will achieve my full potential.
I believe that if the lord, the great architect of
The universe wishes, I shall achieve my goal.              

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Friday, July 30, 2010

Clumsy Mory

    


                                   By Mory Keita

              I guess I was born clumsy – unorthodox isn’t it. Since my early childhood, I was often criticized for my odd behavior and my “care-free” personality. Though I dislike writing this genre of mini-autobiographical story, I must admit that as I write this brief story, I feel nostalgia; I realize how fast I have grown and how different I have become.

            Surrounded by family, friends and the enchanting majesty of nature, I grew curious like Ulysses, and began questioning the purpose of life itself. Though I have always been overly fascinated by the functioning of things around me, particularly machines, like king Midas’ golden touch, I have also been “blessed” with the ability to cause damage to any object I touch in my investigations and pursuit of understanding. I remember opening my dad’s watch because I was fascinated by its moving hands. Though I successfully completed my goal of putting the watch’s pieces apart, I unintentionally destroyed it.  That is one reason I was mockingly referred to as “clumsy Mory” by my sister and friends. Apart from this instance, there have been numerous other instances, which I do not wish to mention here, where my childish curiosity, or should I say naivety, has gotten me into trouble.

          When I look now at myself and think of how ridiculous my childhood nickname was, I wonder if I was the only adolescent who hated his nickname. Why couldn’t it have been “Mory, the cool guy”, or something nice to hear, or at least good sounding?

            Now that I have attained a certain level of “maturity”, it amuses me to hear my family sarcastically referring to me as “clumsy”. I wonder if it a trait that I still hold. My lost of childhood imagination and curiosity pain me, I now know that the little prince was right, grow-ups are “mushrooms”; all they ever think of are authority , riches and vain praises. But, Alas, I failed to follow its advices and have become a mushroom too; for, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

            To conclude this short story, I have always wondered whether my so-called clumsiness was a gift or an object of mockery. Recently, I have realized that, although being clumsy isn’t perceived positively, it is more virtuous that many other characteristic and it is what made me who I am now. As I grow up, I still wonder if I shall ever once again regain that clumsiness that I have lost.

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Monday, July 26, 2010

The Romantic


By Mory Keita



Though she is not Cinderella or snow white,
She lives their lives and dreams in the castle,
Where she is stranded in a dungeon for life,
Till her charming prince delivers her from the wicked spell.
Then,when she wakes up from fairyland she sees no prince.

A classic fairytale she lives in her sleeps,
Awake a  modern tragedy she experiences.
She reads poetry; listen to it, like her bible.
She imagines herself in John Donne’s hands,
While he recites that poetic melody in her ears,
The wind transporting sounds of her name to the ears of
Envious sirens in Neptune, the sun sweeping her face.

She wishes she was a Byron’s or a Poe’s lover,
Or at least one they fancy in their poetic dreams,
And write about lines unheard, unwritten by men, lines such as:

    Vois-tu  mon amour  le soleil qui brille ?
   Écoutes-tu la chanson des pigeons volant ?
   Ils envient  notre bonheur, notre amour.                             

She fancies that  lady, that “mon amour”,
She wishes she could find the whirl of space- time,
She years to travel to the romantic era,
She desires to fall in love with the Victorians,
The Shakespeares and the likes of Caspar Davis Friedrich;
With her fairness she would seduce the romantics,
She would make them write poems, novels and paint,
Paintings like never before, with a passion molded in romance.
She pray that  men could rise above sexual fantasies,
She aspires to become an art, an inspiration.
Alas! her aura of romance is but pathetic fancy,
For romance, as she wishes, is but a joke to modern men.

She pities the dullness of our era, this unromantic jungle.
This epoch  without castles, dungeons and princes.
She is bored by this world without fairy, witches and happy ending.
She misses the romantics maybe because of her naiveté,
Or she had been rocked by false tales of quixotic lovers,
Or perhaps, she is simply some lunatic, a mind living in fairyland.
  
I too pity her much, much to sympathize.
Though I am not a Tennyson or Byron or a poetic heart,
Nor I am Don Quixote , Don Juan or a chivalrous prince,
I too feel lost in this materialistic universe of ladies.
We both are lost in romance like sad clowns on stages.


Brief history: i wrote this in response to another of my poem The jerk because i thought i had generalized too much.
Shared with the one stop poetry community.

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Sunday, July 25, 2010

In solitude I have found Knowledge


 By Mory Keita

In solitude I have found knowledge I sought,
More desirous than treasures of Alexander,
Knowledge that shall satisfy till thy riches pale,
For thy treasures guide thou to voracious thirst.

If thou would to bribe me with golden myriad,
Or if thou would to offer to me Midas’golden hand,
I shall not be tempted, nor shall I smile of envy.                                                 
Why should I, when I hold papyrus from my Lord?

If thou are prepared to abandon futility to join me,
I shall show to thy greedy sight fairest of all wanders,
And thou shall fall on thy knees in front of thy Lord,
For, he dwelled his grace upon me with this wisdom.
                                                                                                                       
Thus, thou shall acquire wealth beyond Alexander’s,
And thou shall cherish thyself more than treasures.

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Saturday, July 24, 2010

Absolutism

  This is a follow up to The world as i see it now.

    

                                                                By Mory Keita

        Plato argues in The Republic that maintaining the balance of peace and justice in a city-state necessitate  the rule of a philosopher-king, Karl Marx and Adam smith, two great theoretical economists, brought fourth their respective doctrines of command and market economy to achieve an “ equitable society”, and so have many philosophers, prophets , scientists. Though, I am not a scholar in these matters, my analysis of the world as it is presently and of human history has convinced me that absolutism is the main source of humanity’s misery.

      If we could rise up from absolutism to relativism, which is more considerate toward our diversity, we will certainly live in a better world, maybe not utopia, but a world where peace and justice are sustainable. All miseries of men lie in their excessive desire for control and superiority. Religious wars, monetary conflicts and other concerns dividing mankind are rooted in men desire to achieve a state of absolute control. To prove my point I will refer to several events that have dramatically changed the course of human history.

      The crusades are a prototype of the devastating consequences of absolutism. To restore their control over the “holy land”, the Holy Roman Empire lunched a series of military campaigns to drive out the “pagans” (Muslims) from Jerusalem. The campaign deprived millions of soldiers and innocents from their lives. Without exploring the intricacies of the campaign, as my point is not to prove whether it was justified or not, if both parties had recognized that the concept of paganism is relative to each of them this war might have been resolved. By that I mean, though the crusaders viewed the Muslims as pagan, the Muslims also viewed the crusaders as idols worshipers, thus their respective views of paganism is  relative to their own religion.
       
     Some other examples are the first and second world wars, which were waged on purely  military and racial superiority philosophies.  The two wars expanded throughout the whole world and engendered in lost of millions of lives.  The same thing can be extended in the current wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia and other parts of the world and violence perpetrated on philosophical basis.

     To conclude, the desire to conquer and control is the cause of all current and pasts misery of mankind. Absolutism leads to cycle of thirst for power, control, greed and unfortunately sometimes to sadism. Is there for mankind a path to “salvation”? I believe so. I will further elaborate on this issue in coming posts.


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Friday, July 23, 2010

sound of water



By Mory Keita

Sound of pattering water on floor,
Drops  jump like frogs in river,
Atoms collide in the quantum like cars,
Winds blow and carry it to my hears,
"A poetic symphony in nature", I wonder,
"What a pacific resonance", I thought.

Poets United

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Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Untitled


By Mory keita

The sun shades in darkness when I close my eyes,
Stars and moon disappear when sun rise from its sleep,
The stillness of night become troubled at dawn,
Peace is unsustainable in face of greed and hatred,
Love and friendship vanish  into oblivion with time,
Wisdom and deeds of the saint may not be remembered,
The universe has a beginning in the big bang and an end,
Life is but a brief journey of joy and sadness,
All fade in the silent harmony of death,
Tell me, O death what is eternal? Tell me, what is man?


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Saturday, July 17, 2010

Fire extinguisher



By Mory Keita


I didn’t know she was flirting with me,
She stared at me oddly, with a smile on her face,
Leaning against the table as we spoke,
Touching her dark brownish hair,
Laughing at my silly jokes, poking me.
Methought she laughed because of my dialect,
Because people always laugh around me,
But no, she smiled whether I spoke or not.

I didn't know she was waiting for me,
She asked me personal questions,
Complimented me for the silliest things:
What book are you reading? what is it about?
How did you learn French? I love your smile,
So, will you help me with my project?
These were normal questions to me,
Thus, I gave her friendly answers.
how can a sixteen years old read such signs?

I didn't feel the blazing  flame within her heart.
Tho’ I would ignore her sometimes,
She always acknowledged me, spoke to me.
She forced me to talk of things I didn't want to talk about,
I felt for once that I wasn’t being interviewed.
I wanted to tell her that I loved her,
Friends advised me to not make a fool out of myself,
So, I didn’t brush a word--oh silly me.

I didn’t see that I was unintentionally hurting her.
She proposed to me three times to hang out,
And I, an imbecile, replied that I had to study.
She didn’t give up on me,she stood by along the way.

Either did i see the fireman with his fire extinguisher.
He came into her life slowly with appreciation,
He wooed her with adventurous tales while I stood by.
She felt for him with such celerity, but I stood by.
A new flame grew in her heart, and the old was extinguished.


Note: I didn’t want to publish this poem on my blog, but I felt that I should not be ashamed and that I needed to “let it out” by sharing this story with others.

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