Frieda, listen little love Frieda. You have scars and burns and bumps-a, And stretches and cracks that may look rueful, But nothing little love, can make you beautiful, Not in my eyes, not today, no no Frieda.
Tomorrow, tomorrow is another day, Come to me then, when I’m old and grey, Oh Frieda love, with your blemishes, And scars and stitches and many bruises. Till then, little love, do stay away, I won’t love you, no not today.
Frieda, listen little love, Frieda, Your face I’ve seen for far too long-a, It has lost its charm; I hope you know, That love is kind, love is great although I loved you once, when you were new, Now you are blue and I am through. Oh my love Frieda, Ill sing for you, Frieda.
Oh little Frieda. Do be good, Love you may, and love you should, But Frieda, little love, do you remember, what I said? Love, you are ugliest when you cry yourself to bed.
Ishani is a second year English major, and like most other literature students, struggles with the habitual consumption of poetry as a recourse from the regular, and the consequent unravelling triggered by the headiness of what she reads. The writing is something that happens when she has momentarily reconciled feelings of insignificance amidst the vastness of literary creation and feelings of sudden inspiration.