Staring at paper for hours--
My pen draws a blank--
Again and again and again;
Seeking inspiration we search-
For that oft' times illusive Muse--
The source of all our creativity--
The fire of our psyche--
The light of our heart-
Who oft' hides herself---
Cleverly somewhere--
Out of reach--
In the back corridors--
Of our soul---
Playing hide and seek occasionly--
With our pen---
And circumstance--
Waiting for just---
The right moment----
To explode---
Once and again---
On paper;
The Essence
July,2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem