On my writing table
I placed my pen and my paper
Before I write
I must obey nature's call.
I took my pen and paper with me
And dropped on the top
Of the cistern in my loo
I came back clean
I am in such a muddle
As to where my pen and paper are
I went hysterical
Until a long search
Back into the loo
I saw them whispering to themselves
'We are here, Mr. Poet we are here'
I heard the whispers not
With my ears
But with my eyes
When l came back
To the writing table
All the venom
In my head was gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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