Black Letters On White Paper Poem by Varala Anand

I sit hours together
Days and nights
With a white paper in my front
And a pen in hand
The pen, sometimes, freezes
Cracks amid the teeth,
Or, dances on the head

Terrible torment
To hatch or to weave
A few words on a white paper

I enter myself, anticipating
To find something I don't know
What is there in the body?
Just the apposition of organs
Into the heart, I go
Into the soul, I peep
In fact, things I don't know
Are present in me too

***
When I focus on society
The society that looks divided
Layers by layers
Is not a monolith, but Mosaic
Inside and outside
This bifocal outlook
Crushes me in the millstone

Churning and churning
Agitation of inner mind
It seems as though
Some door, closed for long
Has got opened

***
Today, not yesterday's reflection
Tomorrow, not seen in today's form
The ever changing society
The resistant mind..
Like some finer sand slips off the fist
Something skids off
If that is caught
The truth can be identified
The pen began to carve
Black letters on white paper

Pen and I are not two
On paper, I have noticed
The poetry taking shape