When the mindless fingers of mine
Suffer from a vacuous fever,
They spill gibberish
Under the mask of poetry.
I see letters dancing on paper,
Some accidentally fall
From the edge of its whiteness.
And I remain silent
Seeing the tragic death of perfection.
Though you complain of a writer's block, I don't find it here! Beautifully expressed Sanjukta! A 10
Wow! Very poignant writing indeed. Writers block did not effect you this day.: -)
If this is what u write tragically then in full senses you will keep us glued for ever to PH.......
relax and have a cup of coffee lie down and set the mind free then your thoughts will unfreeze and writing poems will again be a breeze thanks-10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yeah true it is something i too have been affected for last some months but i trying searching contradictions in your poetry and return empty handed