I have always adored the odd, little books Dr. Seuss gifted to our complex, grey world that takes itself a tad bit too seriously. He made me fall in love with rhymes as he set records straight about green eggs and ham and small persons being persons. He encouraged children, and eventually adults, to think beyond the letter Z and to try and move mountains, while being unapologetically simple in his word-weaving. He inspired the world with his creative absurdity. He taught me that The Bizarre can be its own kind of charming.
He showed me how poems aren’t always supposed to be profound and thought provoking.
Sometimes they exist just for fun.
And that, to me, has always been beautiful.
So, as a token of respect to the great rhyming genius, here is a silly poem I wrote when I was, yet again, absolutely done with the world.
Little birds don’t remember
He smiled a sad curve as he ambled down the street
Her “no” more scalding than the summer heat
Why had he done it? What had he been thinking?
All he remembered were her eyes- beckoning, twinkling
And before he had known he was making such a mess
He had worn his heart on his sleeve and gone on to confess
It sure was a bad idea, that much was true
His failure in love made him brood a special blue
The bitter rejection of his fragile heart
Maybe what would help is a fresh, new start?
Away from her hair, her eyes, her glare,
Her ways of the world, sans a single care
Maybe she wasn’t worth it, maybe it was all in his brain
Sincere effort and persistence- gone right down the drain
All was for nothing, it always seems so in the end
To think it all started just because he wanted a girlfriend
Life hardly cut him slack, it just wasn’t fair
He might never be the half of a perfect pair
Well at least he had an answer, at least he could move on
Perhaps get a new beginning at the break of dawn?
But even as he wondered, his shoulders slumped low
Still contemplating that devastating no.
If he died tomorrow, if he was stabbed with a knife
Would anyone honor his fruitless strife?
He wiped his brow in a gesture of surrender
And wondered if the little birds would remember
Of his fearlessness in the battlefield of love
He sighed sadly, staring at the sky above.
Oh grief, loss, such lack of hope
Love, the emotional kaleidoscope
Nothing seems to matter, nothing makes sense
He felt like he would cross over sanity’s fence.
When he heard a soft voice, calling from afar
He turned around to find a pretty girl with a scar
She said, with her eyes glinting a strange, mellow bright,
“You are in Class 12-B, if I am right?
He gulped and he stared as he managed a nervous nod
Damn, this girl was seriously hot.
She smiled as he answered and that’s when he knew
There was going to be a change in his romantic point of view
He felt a familiar feeling bubble up in his broken heart
And he laughed because he knew what comes in the next part
He watched her talk and grudgingly thought
Well, maybe love was worth another shot…
He shrugged, blinked twice and smiled at the girl
Ready for a new friendship to unfurl.
As she talked about being new to the suburban neighborhood
And not wanting her forwardness to be misunderstood
He flushed and felt a spark in his heart’s last ember
Now then, did he really want the little birds to remember?
Because now that he thought of it, that girl was all right,
But nothing as amazing as the girl in his sight
He had never understood love’s rose-tinted glasses
But it seemed like this girl was in all of his classes
So he ignored his exhaustion, stifled a lazy yawn
And offered to walk with the girl from here on
A small tension built as they went ahead walking
Blushing and smiling and excitedly talking
And thus his passionate love became a stray afterthought
That all the amused little birds… promptly forgot.