You cannot be a poet all the time
Sometimes, somehow
Words won’t come by
You stare at the wall
Trying to capture the hollowness
Behind the flash of new paint
You look out the window
Trying to immortalize the beauty
Of the rose buds and the morning dew
And you close your eyes
Trying to imagine the beloved
With the tinkling laugh and bright eyes
But the poet in you is asleep
Too far gone in midnight dream
To put together words in a stream
That’s the worst you can feel
On a day with sunlight
In the air and in your room
After days and days of grey shade
That slowed the pulse of the city
And blurred its gaze
Now it’s all light
But perhaps, gloom brings out more
From a poet’s mad soul.
Being A Poet
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