Yesterday’s unexpressed thoughts
die on their way to tomorrows.
My muse, like a discarded carriage,
sits on the end of today’s tracks
that lead to the middle of nowhere.
My present - a stagnant pause -
between the acme and nadir of inspiration
Weeds of weariness strangle
half-formed poems in their infancy
I bury the corpses in my mind.
They haunt the subconscious
dark, looming, oppressive shadows
refusing the graves I dig for them,
seeking release from oblivion...
What salvation can I offer them?
I, who limp through words and phrases,
struggle under the weight of unfinished
sentences and incomplete ramblings.
I can only keep vigil with those ghosts.
In their freedom is my deliverance |
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Comments on this Poem
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Sony Dalia, I must thank you for your appreciative comment. Your appreciation is always welcome.
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Thanks for a nice poem, many would like to identify with. Progress from specific to universal. A typical Shernaz poem.Best.
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Extremely nice of you to have read it and commented so favourably, Padmaja. Yes, I am sure most writers will identify with it. Thanks a lot.
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Exquisite! A poet's dilemma at times, excellently articulated. Thanks Shernaz for writing this poem that quite a few of us can identify with.
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