An inward looking poem where Maya talks about the dynamics of creativity, how it’s not easy to write about melancholy.
I wring my eyes,
tighten my jaw lines,
and my muscles
heave a few deep sighs.
I clear my throat,
trying to give a poem of melancholy, a shot.
… make a bad attempt to visualise…rather…
… all things in my life s-a- d
things that would actually make me go mad.
To my call,
not a tear does fall!
the most wilful smile,
does my attempted mood beguile.
I want to write a verse of pain!
My pen, holds me, in disdain.
Why try to be in doldrums?
Why a poem of ‘would that…it were so’ …or of mums?
Why not the mental poise?
Why not rejoice?
Why to poison your lips?
Why not, in the rill of happiness, a dip?
I have heard ‘life is what you make it’:
Let me make it Good then!
Pix from Net.
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