Sometimes my verses
Get sentenced into a muted click
Muted mind sits sombre
Scratching the head to grey
What next
Somebody recommended dying
Meant to me the other way
And I'm fastened in the dark-lands
To escape, my tardy mind
Thinks, thinks, thinks
A shearing spark..
Outwits
I'm relieved
a blankness occurs sometimes which makes us restless..what gives us that spark which brings us back to life...a rare poem on a rare subject...i take thi into my favs it ewould help me when iam down
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have beautifully depicted how many poets often feel on their so-called off day. I am lucky to fall back on the alternative to take up poetic translation of Sanskrit of which a lot is in line.