I anticipate a poem in my head
To come into it like rains in monsoon,
But my skull is hollow and deserted
With the brightness of moonlight during noon
But the sun dresses dark in the red sky
And rains are ugly like their cotton'd wombs,
To my dumb-ness inspirations are shy
And the muse mother rests in her new tombs
Maybe it's just my pen- dumber than me
Unable of deciphering my mind
Or sad still over the ink pots spilt three
Which together did my creations bind
But I think in rhymes and speak in verse,
Worlds of fantasy in dreams I roam,
There's music in meows and meaning in purrs,
When thought about- life itself is a poem...
~Ajay
3/10/17
