I sit there, blank, above the page.
Whiteness on white stares back at me.
A vacuous lull, invades my head,
A numbness tips over my veins.
Dismayed, I try to trace some shapes.
But insentient my fingers limp.
Apathy spreads over the page.
My vacant mind goes wandering.
The hazy words slip out of grip.
The efforts vain enervate me.
My mind declines to yield an inch,
And mocks at my despondent will.
A sudden flutter, gives me hope,
The unforeseen just wavers by.
A heedless spur jabs me to rope,
But unwary, I miss the catch.
In frenzied rage I tear the page,
And break the barren pen I hold.
The inky bleeding smears my hands,
And yet my mind remains unmoved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nicely written, Neera