I am sorry for the rushed tone of my words
That I wrote when I was on fire.
A thousand words were trying to escape my mouth
As the neighbor played sweet tunes on his lyre.
But my unattended candles had turned the house into a pyre.
So, I wrote in hurry because I was on fire.
Oh but do not put the poem down
And do not judge me for being a liar
But only feel the gentle warmth of my words
When I talk of my love, my sorrow, my desire
And all intense emotions that the instrument had inspired
That I inked here while I was on fire.
Do not lose your focus thinking about me
I was in my most expensive and fancy silk attire
Waiting for my man who was returning after months
So, I wore my prettiest pendant studded with a sapphire
There was a bottle of vintage Courvoisier
That spill and I ran to the desk for pen and paper before catching on fire.
Read it heartily and do not pity me
The stingy burns and unbearable pain were required
They always said that a poet needs sadness and tragedy
Without any hint of mockery or satire
Recite, recite this poem aloud and admire
I wrote it while I was on fire.
Bask in my achievement and happiness
Marvel at how well everything conspired
To give me the chance of writing my greatest poem
Before the house and I, both expired
But do not yet reach for the phone and of my health inquire
Read the verses again that I wrote while I was on fire.
Do not exclaim me mad or maybe just a little
For madness is another rudiment of poetry I acquired
What a beautiful day it was to be alive
Then it showed a shadowy speck and then was lost entire
But I realized the greatest dream before the flames aspired
Read and reread this fine piece I wrote while I was on fire.