About the boy
Composition : a masculine form
of stature not tall or short.
A son born of summer, with eyes as autumn leaves
and blur'ed vision under glass contained.
A score, a dozen and a deuce
of years, no more the callow youth.
Rough of the edges, not fair of face,
plain features upon this countenance.
A thatch as dark as a raven's wing,
with complexion of Eastern origin.
A hollow heart beats inside this chest,
no other as yet resides within.
Both libation and infernal cloud
are spurned by these two lips.
Not sleight of hand nor strong of arm,
with the stillness as that of stone.
And the personality of this mind,
what complexities here can we find?
The similarities and differences
of passions and prejudices.
Compared with people most ordinary,
there is nothing special here.
A like of images, both still and moving
on screen of silver or cathode ray.
Prefers to dine on words,
of possible tomorrows, or places never been.
And sup on melodies, an eclectic mix
of anything that takes a fancy.
These are parts of me, that make me how I am.
Permit me to ask in return, So how are you?
* [not sure if I would add some more here later, that is all I have for now. Might rewrite the ending as well. And maybe a better title. The title I have now is derived from the song "Mad About The Boy" sung by Dinah Washington rather than the book "About a boy" by Nick Hornby.]
ETA : Oh, and yes the poem is sort of about me :)