A Poem is Born

 

I wish I could
reach into my pocket
and find a poem
for some days,
the silence
is not something
I want to own
and try as I do –
the words don’t come.
They stubbornly trip
far away
and out of reach
and I am left speechless.
no words
no tongue
no sound
save that leaky faucet
hidden in my mind
the drip
the drip
that constant drip
and that hollow sound
when it hits
the stainless steel
washbasin
of my mind.
And though often
thoughts may creep
like vines,
today –
they refuse to grow
and this is when I know
I should lay down the paper
and the pen
and just walk away.
But I stretch,
for I refuse to fail
and only then –
does inspiration
hit me
over the head
and a poem is born.
(c) Sumyanna 2016

Image courtesy of Morguefile (ncgraphics)

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6 Comments Add yours

  1. don’t we all know this but you are adamant won’t leave 🙂 but love how you put it Sum…love hugs

    Like

    1. Sumyanna says:

      Oh, I try to never leave but even I have some moments 🙂 So glad you liked it Seema.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I have felt just as your poem describes on many days and sometimes my tap remains dry refusing to give up that first word or phrase to get me started. Great poem.

    Like

    1. Sumyanna says:

      I think it is something we all struggle with at one time or another. When words are our window – it can make things difficult 🙂 So glad you liked it.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. EricWK says:

    Very enjoyable to read. The versing of the dripping faucet is very identifiable and surreal.

    Like

    1. Sumyanna says:

      So glad it is. thank you!

      Like

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