Poetry Poem by Saju Abraham

There isn't any love left in me,
My poetic resources have dried up,
So has the ink in my pen.
The glass is no more full.

Now it's just a fantasy world.
Chewing on the cud of autumn bygone.
When fields were green and grain-filled,
The barns full of bulging bags,

Birds at the end of endless migration;
Trees spread out in joy,
Even as leaves disintegrated,
For the new shoots gave them much to cheer.

My hearts don't well up
At sights of sorrow or joy.
Where will I pick up words of wisdom?
Where await pearls of poetry?

Ah, the end of my poetic artistry!
Not that I had it in considerable degree.
I did think highly of my verses.
High or low, alas it's over now.