Sauntering by the blue, shimmering lake,
In a poetic muse,
Thinking what to write next,
The oceans of ink drip with stillness,
An emptiness pervade,
Serenading over my reflective head.
Sitting atop a picturesque hillock,
Searching for inspiration from the dewy greenery,
Its iciness cooling the burnt embers of racing thoughts,
Not a single word escapes,
From the depths of my poetic case.
Amidst the roses and jasmines,
Where fragrant floral wonder
Clutches my heart,
Velvety petals on silken cheek caresses,
Not a word sprouts,
And blossoms in sight.
Where have the words gone,
I wonder,
I look up to the star-studded sky,
Are the lost words embedded in the seams of silver lining of clouds,
Or in the crescent of candascent moon?
Or in the crest of beautiful ocean waves,
or at the edge of every pink-lipped tulip flower?
Where are the words
That spills poetry of love and joy,
Has it gone with the wind,
Or down with the sunsets,
Or up with the cheerful rainbows?
I sit by the lake and close my eyes,
Waiting for the poetry pearls to part from my lips,
As precious as pearls in an oyster,
Glistening with tears of joy.
And when I find the words to write atlast,
Do come and sit by me, won’t you?
And listen to the rhythm of poetic beat,
As the boat gently rows on the lacustrine lake,
Mirroring my quietude,
Amidst the occasional soft ripples.
A phase for every poet/writer,
Where time seems to slow down,
As words scatter like shells,
In silver, sparkling sands,
Scampered-waiting to be hand-picked,
Word by word,
To create
Verses, poetry or prose
All strewn with magical love
