Keep Scribbling Poem by Ananta Madhavan

Poems are obsolete, I told myself.
Why bother to write any prose or verse?
There is nothing under or beyond the sun
That needs to be said in the words we utter,
Or lexically confirm, or complacently mutter.
If someone has not yet said it, even in fun,
It must be because those words were not worth saying.


But I keep scribbling on and cannot stop.
I read a little, husbanding the muse's flame,
For visions and revisions, unmindful
Of what others elsewhere, else-when inscribed
In their epiphanies of deathless poesy;
Do ducks stop paddling merely because
Two swans have graced the lake before?