Sprezzatura
Dec. 8th, 2018 06:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_eternal_overthinkerDrafts of drafts lay crushed on the ground,
The pen kept scribbling, till the nib broke down.
She held her empty head, up in despair,
Cursing the universe, her muse, or anyone who’d care!
The moon was a witness, to her silent tears,
She wondered if it really inspired this creative world.
Too lazy to answer her query so grave,
The moon just slithered further into a cloudy bed.
Angry and irritated by this peek -a- boo game,
She picked up a fresh sheet and racked her brain.
Jotting down ideas on the go,
It wasn’t too long before she started to snore.
The birds chirped, the wind blew,
And morning arrived,
The Sun beamed through the window,
Announcing the deadline!
“Oh Shit!” She panicked and looked at the clock,
She rushed through the chores,
While mugging up her notes.
Booking a cab, she ran with her cloak.
“Sprezzatura, my lord,”
She said rubbing her sweaty palms,
“Belongs to the female gender,
Not her male counterpart.”
She spoke with passion,
About the artist hidden in womankind.
From high heels to make-up,
All that she endures with so little pride.
“And Careless, my lord, she has always been.
Hence we are fighting this case to gain back her rights!”
The judge was impressed,
By her effortless rant.
She had covered all her points,
Without glancing at the notes in her hand.
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