Blank as a slate, with bewilderment I am fraught.
Words elude me, or is it my feelings that are numb,
In this drunken world, to the stupor have I succumbed?
I reminisce fondly, when my words had flown like a river,
Now they twitch morosely, curdling in my pen that quivers.
I grope into my soul, grappling with blurring memories,
They refuse to be forced out, afraid to see the light of reality.
My paper remains blank, words dying a silent death,
Martyrs to my despair, shrouded in tears of regret.
And I sit in cold stillness, gaping at my friend once so ardent,
Sighing heavily at the silence, and the wordless night that I am going to spend.
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7 comments:
Nice one Bithika!!!
A Creative Writer's Block! :D
Keep up the good work!!!!
Your poem reminds me that we are all here and still living to write! Thank you!
http://srilu121.blogspot.com/2010/02/peace_07.html
Turns out, I didn't side-step my writer's block after all; it's been over an year since I had my so called 'moment'! Hope your post is the much needed propellant!
wow!that is incredible.
Terrific one on writer's block...yes the still born words that die on your doorstep, been there! But you could write brilliantly about not being able to write..that's something!
Its wonderful that you can write about not being able to write :)
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