AN UNPLANNED POETIC CONVERSATION...

Sir Jibs:
Absol, you've become a master of the pen, can I ever duet with you?

ABSOL:
An adventure my muse punches me daily to embark on
But who am I a little zebra compared to your Lion pen?
How do I bring my muse to box your intimidating ink?
But nevertheless, it is an adventure every little cell of my body is anticipating even if it will wreck havoc on them

Sir Jibs:
Oh! Absol!
Call me not to a duet
For I'm a weakling of the pen
Neither can I match your ink
For writing as departed my soul mate

ABSOL:
Maybe not only your soul
At her departure went my muse
At her last goodbye hug my inspiration was lost
Who then am I of no muse to call thee to a duet
Mate! I broke her heart and now I am more broken
I told her goodbye and now I am in painful pains
See who is now more of a weakling
Who can neither match your muse
Nor the strength of ink
At the moment, my ink is no longer bleeding ink but blood
But maybe with a duet with you
My muse will find solace
For I am a broken man with a broken heart

Sir Jibs:
Oh! Mate

Your lies smell of lies
And your pen bleeds blood indeed
Shall it be known to thee
That it's been long the pen took me on a journey
For I've been broken beyond redemption
I've been hurt beyond pain
And I no longer feel for myself
Neither for a soul
Thee should know
A duet with you is welcome
Any day anytime
For I'm always ready
Even if thee beseech the trophy
I shall learn to write another day

ABSOL:
Oh what a good news to behold in the early hours of another sad day of my heart!
Oh what a joyful invitation to get as my conscience wrestle with my mind, body, soul and spirit
I shall honour thy trophy
And by the dark hours of the sad day I shall be glad to enter the ring of inks with you
Till then...
Let me cry and mourn for my heart bleeds no red blood but sad songs it has been singing endlessly
Let me deal with my memories before it turns headache
And let me wrestle with my life before it takes itself from me

Sir Jibs:
Oh! brother
Of what mischief have thee done again?
Of what havoc have thee conceived again?
If Rose be gone
Let it be known you enjoyed it
While it lasted
For What's love without the luxuries?
For what's love without the pain?
And what's more to die for if not love?

ABSOL:
Mischief and havoc I did and conceived not
Dear brother,
Nature is just unfair
And reality, an enemy of idealism

Sir Jibs:
Nature!
Oh! Mother nature
With her sweet and mysterious nature
Is always fair

ABSOL:
Maybe not in all cases

©SIR JIBS et ABSOL