I always wonder where do these words come from, where do they rise and where do they set? Sometimes shining like the bright full moon. Sometimes like the shimmering crescent. Yet many a times like the moonless empty sky, deserting poets and writers as the rains do to the parched earth.
Words, where have thee gone ?
Leaving thy writer forlorn
These are the moments I am lost in wishful thinking, longing and awaiting the resurgence of words. Like an explorer lost in search of his own hidden treasure.
These are the moments raining with anxiety, emptiness and silence. Thoughts begin to scream at full volume but the pen seems to have lost all its ink and I do nothing but hopefully blink, trying to verse-fully think.
No rhythm , no rhyme
I loathe that terrible time
More so often then not
I am entangled in this knot