||And I walk alone||

And I walk alone on the titled road
Reminiscent of the times when the angels spoke
The reality of my life lies in its shroud
I hallucinate as my illusions surround
The little life that I have yet to live
The fascinating disguise that I am yet to give
I clown over my misery as if it would lie
My happy memories beg to let them cry
Yet I put on my favourite mask
Living the moments that are yet to pass
I wait for my old heart to come back
I crowd over the souls of my own pack

And I walk alone on the titled road
Wandering away from the reality it holds
I sleep as if I won't ever be awake
I have the best dream one could bake
I look behind me over the footprints I leave
The people and moments that I weaved
I raise my hand to swim in death so broad
And I walk alone on the titled road.

I breathe the poison in the air
Remembering it's truth and flair
I fear my soul being flown away with the wind
The ink on my book fades away like my footprint
I rub my hands for warmth
I try to see the hints the angels prompt
I put my name up on the death board
And I walk alone on the titled road.

#review #poetry #Saviour

#review #Saviour #story
||Eyes||
There was something about those eyes. Something special. As if the whole world was waiting to get a glimpse of those eyes but I was the lucky winner who got the chance to see them first.

" You have your mother’s eyes," I whispered in her ears.

Her new little fingers grasped my finger tightly. Holding her in my arms I felt as if I was holding my entire world.

I still remember the day I first met her mother. She was sitting there all alone.

" Can I take your picture? "

" Why? "

She said this without looking at me.

" of all the things I have seen, you are the second most beautiful. "

" and what is the first one? "

" Your Eyes. "

" Why should I believe you? "

She was still looking down stirring her cup of coffee.

" I am a photographer. I capture beauty. No one knows about beauty better than me. "

She looked in my direction but not at me.

" Dead! "

" What? "

"My eyes, they are dead. I am blind," Her eyes were trying to guess my position. "You said no one knows beauty better than you but I don’t know what beauty is. I don’t know the difference between beauty and ugliness. Do you still think that my eyes are beautiful?"

I couldn’t see her eyes because they were blurred with tears.

" In our profession they say, If the picture is blur, you are not close enough," I moved closer to her. Her face just inches away from mine. She was still trying to guess my position. My breath directed her to me. I kissed her eyes and she got her answer.

I was looking in those eyes. Her eyes. I tried to uncurl her little fingers by pressing on her palm, she curled them back into a tight fist and I captured this moment in my camera.

" Operation theater is ready. "

" Coming Doctor. "

" Are you sure you want to do this? "

" What do my reports say Doctor? "

" You have maximum 4 months. "

" Then I am pretty much sure. "

" But you will never be able to capture beauty in your camera anymore. "

"Doctor my wife is the second best beauty in this world and do you know what is the first one? My daughter’s eyes," I felt as if she smiled when I said this. "and I have captured both in my camera."

Lying in the bed I closed my eyes. All images started to fade. Now everything was black and when I opened my eyes it seemed like millions of years had passed. I opened my eyes but…but it was still dark.

" What is this Doctor? Switch on the lights!! "

" Lights are on. Are you alright? You have taken such a difficult decision…"

" No, no Doctor don’t worry, I was just checking whether you did your job perfectly or not." I laughed but I sensed Doctor’s displeasure to my joke. "How is my wife?"

" Operation was successful but… "

" I know, she need some answers. Please Doctor take me to her. "

The distance to her room was the longest distance I have ever travelled.

"I told you not to take this decision and you said you were just kidding, then why did you do this?" She said. She was crying.

This time she could see me but I couldn’t see her. I have given my vision to my masterpiece. Her image was not on my retina but my mind was drawing a blur image of her in front of me.

"In our profession they say, If the picture is blur, you are not close enough," I was trying to guess her position.

She moved closer to me. Her breath directed me to her. I kissed her eyes and she got her answer

The Complete Man

‘Are you straight?’ I asked bluntly after a couple of minutes of formal talk, as his way of speaking sounded a bit different to me.

‘You mean?’

‘I mean, I don’t know how to ask this in the right way. But are you a full-man?’ I asked like an uneducated moron. I thought of him as a Hijra, at first.

To which, he laughed a little. Thank God, I thought, that I had not offended him.

‘Yes, yes. I’m a full-man who likes full-men. Which means I’m a gay,’ he said like being a gay is perfectly normal and he’s not ashamed of it.

‘Haha, alright.’ I said. ‘If you don’t mind, may I extend this topic a bit more?’

‘Sure.’

‘What’s like being gay in India. I mean, start with your family, if you don’t mind. Do they know about you? And do they support you on that?’

‘They know, yes. They know who I am. And do they support me? Partially. They’ve not thrown me out of their house despite knowing I’m a gay. So they support me on that. But that’s only one part of the story.’

‘They won’t let me be with a boy for the rest of my life. They say—’ he said, stuttering, yet trying to sound perfectly okay, ‘They say— after you’ll get married to a girl, your interests will shift.’

‘And what about the way you walk and the way you speak? What about that?’

‘They say it will change, too.’

‘Oh!’ I said. Refraining from saying anything against his parents. ‘And do you have any boyfriend? I mean, only if you’re comfortable talking about this one, too.’

‘Oh, that’s completely okay to me. People seldom take any interest in my life. Maybe you’re the first one with such hell of a curiosity. So feel free to ask me anything you want. And about my relationship status: Yes, I do have a boyfriend.’

‘You’re kind, I really appreciate you for saying that. And now I suppose I ought to resume my bombarding questions at you, right?’ I chuckled.

‘Why not!’ he said cheerfully.

‘Okay. So what about your boyfriend? He supports you and all?’

‘He loves me. That’s for sure. No doubt in that. But he says he can’t accept me in a male’s body for the rest of his life.’ my gay-friend said matter-of-factly, and continued, ‘My boyfriend says if I want to spend my future with him, I need to have a woman’s body, going through whatever surgery possible.’

What the hell? I said to myself.

I gulped down the air to mull over what I’ve just heard, again. Bloody sexist, I thought of his boyfriend. And just when I was all set to curse his boyfriend, no matter how wrong I might seem to him, the phone was cut down.

By the company.

The time limit to the call was over.

#review #Saviour #shortstory

#Saviour #poetry #review
||The Whims and Caprices of A one sided lover.||

When a war was unleashed between the mind and heart,
It seemed as if the mountains had torn apart.

I was confused which side to take
For my one- sided love was at the stake.
Both began to lure me,
Into accepting their own line of thought.
I was amazed to see how vigorously
The two great powers fought.

The heart commenced with great enthusiasm,
Singing praises of my beloved.
To whom my entire life was dedicated,
Whose name was in my heart engraved.
She is so divinely beautiful,
So talented and so smart.
Is it any wonder that she,
On the first sight, stole your heart.

She possesses the grace of a swan,
The tenderness of a sapling,
The beauty of a spring rose,
The majesty of a king.
She stands out among the other mortals
Like a swan in a flock of ravens.
Her descent on this earth was a mistake of gods;
Her place is actually in the heavens.
Her touch gives life and vitality
Even to the feelings forgotten and unknown.
On the ground where she treads her soft feet
The fragrance lingers long after she is gone.
When she dances it seems
That the angels of skies have undergone an incarnation.
For redefining the fine art in a sublime way;
To elevate it to a new dimension.
While she reaches the zenith during a dance,
Her Nightingale voice robs you of your frets and fears.
Her sweet melodious song feels as if
The heavenly nectar is dripping in your ears.
Does anyone possess even a fragment of the chastity
That illuminates her divine face.
Was there ever someone so worthy of being possessed
In the entire human race.
Her very smile is enough
To send you soaring in the sky of delight.
Roaming freely on the clouds of ecstasy,
Or strolling on a beach on a full moon night.
Your thoughts have unveiled a new horizon,
She has inspired your fantasy to explore new heights.
With her you have spent your most cherished moments,
In her dreams you have sighed out many sleepless nights.

Now it was the turn of my mind
To furnish its arguments against those of the heart.
While the heart had won over my feelings and emotions,
the mind had to rely on my rational part.
She may be smart, beautiful and talented
Even a diva or fairy for you:
But one thing you may take for granted
That she is not in love with you.
You yourself are quite a unique set
Of qualities, achievements and talents.
Then why have you embarked on this path of love,
Where the future points only to grief and laments.
You can withstand hard times, no doubt
Or even recollect memories that leave you sore.
But the fangs of one-sided love are, my friend,
In faith, too painful to endure.

She is not the only one beautiful
There are millions like her in this world
Moreover wasting time over a futile one-sided love
Is the stupidest thing I ever heard.
So, stop living in a fantasy world
Pull yourself out of this state of trance.
Instead of devoting your life to her,
Take a path where you at least get a chance.
Your love has no meaning for her
So better forget this weird love-mess.
Clear your mind of her memories
And start a new journey afresh.
Now that both the mind and heart were done,
It was my turn to take a decision.
The course of the battle now entirely depended
On my judgement’s wisdom and precision.
Though both had fought exceptionally well,
The victor for me was the heart.
For the truth was simply that
It had swayed my whims from the very start.
And so I began the final task,
To bring this argument to a solution.
To justify my true love for my beloved
And to end all this confusion.

True love has no expectations,
True love has no demands,
It makes you a king without a crown
And places the whole world in your hands.
To gain her is not my motive
Attaining her won’t be an achievement
If the purpose of love too is to gain something
What else is left in this world for contentment.
She may not be in love with me
She may not be mine in this birth
But in relishing my love for her
I realized my own worth.

My love has transformed me into a new person
It has given me divine insights.

And if anywhere in the world, she is happy and contented,
I will surely sleep better at nights.
And thus the heart finally emerged the victor,
The mind was the one vanquished.
But the battle meant much more to me,
For it was the victory of my love that I had ever cherished.
#review #Saviour #poetry

#review #Saviour #shortstory

| Cause it hurts...|

‘Okay. And tell me exactly how you feel about her?’

‘I mean, you know, I’d like to keep it to myself.’ I said. ‘I love some girl out there and that’s it. That’s all I want you to know for the time being.’

‘But you can trust me on that!’ she said, childishly, like a 5 y/o girl wanting to know everything that’s happening around her.

‘Hey… you don’t need to assure me that every now and then. I know I can trust you. Completely. I know that. It’s just that—’ I took a pause, and said again, ‘It’s just that… I don’t know. I don’t feel like sharing this to anyone as of now.’

‘Not even to your closest friend?’

‘No, not even to him.’

‘Does it hurt? I mean, not getting the love you deserve, and not being able to share this with anyone, too. Does it hurt?’

‘I’ll be honest with you.’ I said. ‘It did before. It wasn’t a long time back when it used to hurt a lot.’

‘But now it doesn’t?’

‘I’d be lying if I say it doesn’t hurt at all.’ I said. ‘You see things ain’t going your way, and you get hurt. That’s how it goes. But now my heart and mind walk along the same lane. They are quite congenial to each other. To what they want and what they deserve.’

‘A bit of philosophy, ha?’ she said.

‘If you don’t want to sound a bit filmy— or cliché is the more precise word what people are using these days— philosophy is the only way around.’ I said. ‘So you do get it, don’t you?’

‘I’m very much unknown to Seneca or Socrates or Plato.’ she said. ‘But since I’ve to answer you something, I would say— you’ve other things to focus upon, too, other than love. Like goals and career. Is that what you’re talking about?’

‘Give yourself a hard slap on your back, smart lady! That’s the size of it.’

‘Yayy, chocolates? Now I need chocolates.’

‘Don’t you fear god? Your fathers’ salary is thrice to my fathers’. And I and my sister have grown up eating chalks and slate pencils. You still want some chocolates?’

‘I hate you.’

‘Accepted. At least this won’t hurt as much as love does.’ I replied, with a dry smile.

I talk to many unknown girls, online.

The app I use does not require any personal details, at all, and that’s why pals use it as a medium of sex-talk.

Truth be told, I’m not any saint, either.

I’m just another boy with yet other hormones. But sex-talk doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, how can you possibly imagine things, on call, that you’ve never done before?

Well, let’s not dive into any further details as it’s already sounding very peculiar.

I’ll tell you why I use that app. Plain and simple.

I love listening to stories coming from girls.

Breakup. Childhood. Drop year. Suicidal thoughts. Chronic disease. Relatives. And all other dark stories, too.

Since we’re totally anonymous on this app, thus, there’s no such thing as you can trust any stranger with your stories or not.

You can.

As far as you’re not telling your complete address to strangers, you can.

So, the moment my call is connected with some random girl, there are few hi’s and hello’s and then comes my intrigue part.

‘If you don’t mind, can you tell me a story about your childhood? Any story?’ I venture.

‘Childhood? Yes, why not! Um, when I was young…’ she would reply, softly.

Speaking of their childhood, 95% of the girls end up telling a dark story. Where, they were touched very inappropriately by some distant relatives, school teacher, or some other male. Mostly known.

Even a little prodding on their stomach, by some male, carves a deep tattoo on the girls’ mind. And it becomes an eternal catastrophic memory.

On hearing so many of these stories, about bad touch, I now understand what I shouldn’t be doing as a male.

I shouldn’t be touching any girl(of whatever age) without her consent.

Because, even if I know that my touch is right, what if someone she trusted, didn’t touch her in the right way? What if she has a past? What if she thinks I’m gonna do the same as some other man did?

So, it’s my responsibility to let her know that she does not have to trust me. At least, not that easily.

I want her to know that it’s completely fine to take enough time for healing. And, I want to let her know that the right man can wait. He’s patient with the girl he loves.

Here, I’m not talking just about my future girlfriend.

I’m talking about my distant cousins who may or may not be comfortable with me, all at once. Or, my little niece, too.

I can wait till she’ll come first, with a broad smile and hands wide open. I can wait until she’ll let me embrace her with all my love.

And, only then, I’ll hug her and tell her that right men exist, too. And now, she needs to leave behind her past for her own good.

#review #Saviour #random

Staring up and staring down,
Nothing to see, just your eyes so deep.
Reliving the moments well spent,
I've lost it all, lost my sleep

You are there, before the sun
And it's just you until the stars.
Your smile is warmer than the sunshine,
And your love, deeper than the scars.

#review #Saviour #random

I eye her while she’s on a walk with someone who seems like her mother.

She’s 5′7″ and her mother 5′3″. That’s what I presume from 50 meters afar and three storeys up.

She looks perfect.

Her hair tied like a braided bun and wearing that cut-off denim shorts on those small carves, long legs: she looks absolutely perfect.

The road where she’s walking seems endless.

I want to go out there and maybe ask her mom to go home while I walk with her daughter, maintaining a proper one-hand distance.

I want to assure her mother that she’s all safe with me.

I want to assure her that all I wish for is to walk with her daughter. Maybe crack a little joke here and there to make her laugh: but nothing more than that.

As I’m planning-my-plans-in-my-head, my beautiful 5′7″ is long gone away from my detect.

But that’s okay.

I’ll go on a walk tomorrow at exact 8:58 PM to espy her walking right on my right/right on my left.

I’ll walk and walk and walk. I’ll walk till she notices me.

I’ll walk exactly how Forrest Gump ran in his low days.

I’m at my low days

#review #random #Saviour

|| Let This, For you be poetry ||

One day, when all the poets die
and there is left below the sky
Just waters, kissed by lunar light
that gleam and ripple in the night;
let this, for you, be poetry.

When pens and quills have all grown cold
take autumn’s glades of gleaming gold,
where fragrant fires and balmy breeze
do burn and breathe through trembling trees;
let this, for you, be poetry.

While lovers ‘neath the pearly moon
still sigh and sing and sweetly swoon,
with lips, that laugh and love and tease;
when beauty breathes from hearts like these;
let this, for you, be poetry.

When swifts and swallows swoop in spring
and skylarks soar aloft to sing,
while sun sets silent off the shore
and sea does seethe and rave and roar;
let this, for you, be poetry.

One day, when all the poets die
and in their graves the poets lie,
upon the heath, go fill your arms,
with honeysuckle’s tender charms;
let this, for you, be poetry.

#review #Saviour #poetry

Today, while I was cleaning every corner of my house with an unused cloth, a thought came in my mind.

"Suppose I would do this in an orphanage, or some NGO, and upload a photo of it. I’ll be in the good books of everyone. People will like me."

The thought didn’t last though. But it was there. Sweeping just four rooms of my house, for one day, and it was there.

Whatever things we do, we do it for recognition or money.

If you don’t believe me, take a few examples from your life. From mine, I’ll point out a few. Writing this post: recognition. Education: money. Buying fancy clothes: recognition. Learning how to invest: money.

These are just clear examples. Nothing brainstorming here. Dive in a little deeper, and you’ll know that everything is related to these two. Recognition and money. Recognition from girls counts, too. Okay?

Now, look at your mother.

Look at the nameplate of your house. Is there her original surname on it? Or even her name? No? Recognition— cross.

Is she a housewife who works at least twelve to fourteen hours a day? Yes? Does she make money out of it? No? Money— cross.

—

Whenever I come across a term called woman, I cross it down. I replace it with mother. And when I glance at this word now, I see everything.

I see the whole goddamn world in it.

Because why not? She’s the one who doesn’t work for recognition or money, she works for the love she has for me and my family. Nothing else.

As a closure, there’s a Hindi excerpt that’s very close to my heart. I’d like to share this with you.

"Akhsar dekha hai maine

Purush kavi hota hai

Daarshnik hota hai

Filmkaar hota hai

Chitrakaar hota hai

Bahut bechain hai kuch rachne ke liye

Kyunki wo kabhi jeevan nhi rach sakta

Kyuki wo kabhi maa nahi bann sakta."

Translation:

I have seen it too often,

A man is a poet,

A philosopher,

A director,

A painter,

He’s very restless to create something,

As he can’t create a life.

Because he can never become a mother.

#review #Saviour #random

| A Song Of Sorrow |

My soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away

His was a sad and sorry plight
A pretty poor pathetic sight 
He seemed ~ as such, resembled me!
Since I myself know misery

For loss of Love's a tragic thing
As troubadours would often sing
In pain-filled, medieval times
They’d pluck their lyres, recite their rhymes

Composed laments of long-lost love
They penned, as pleas, to God above
For healing of their heart and mind
(They saw in God, the caring kind)

Their verse performed would touch and tear 
Of broken hearts the wounds lay bare 
Their lyrics moved the king and queen,
Who’d sat before like stone, serene

And peasants wept and so did lords
The soldiers’ tears would wet their swords
While priests would pine and chant and pray
As men possessed ~ like me today!

Whose soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away

#review #poetry #Saviour

‘Are you serious? You haven’t developed feelings for me, ever?’

It was mid-of-Jan and we were walking along the river embankment.

She was a little worn out with her boyfriend and when that happens, she always asks me such silly questions.

‘Tch, tch. Friends don’t develop feelings for each other.’

I said matter-of-factly and observed her expressions. Her expressions were as steady as my grandma’s old wooden chair.

‘I mean… not even once? Please don’t say you never felt a thing for me. And if that’s the case, then why you got jealous whenever I’d talk to other boys?

And as she said that, I turned my gaze upwards, mulling for a sharp reply.

The clouds had just turned jet-black and the sun was sinking in the river ever so slowly, just like an ice cube sinks in the water and becomes a part of it, ever so slowly.

"You crazy? The hell I cared with you talking to other boys.

I always wanted you to pick one of those Romeos who were always running after you. Liking your photos, awww so pretty, I’ll do your assignments and saying much other creepy stuff, too.

Thank god you came in a relationship with one of them and I’m free now.

There’s a hell lot of peace in my life since you’re committed."

I replied in a fit of rage.

And later, I couldn’t make eye contact with her after that.

I lingered at the ground and thought myself being that ice; sinking in her love ever so slowly and becoming a part of her, day after day after day.

‘Oh!’

She sighed, just sighed, and we kept walking in silence for a couple of minutes.

But catching me off-guard, all of a sudden, she slowly reached for my hand and held my little finger not like a friend, like a lover.

For one second it felt like someone kicked my heart with a golden boot. Though, the pain was peaceful.

‘Hey! What the hell? What do you think you are doing? Are you dumbhead or what?’

I almost yelled at her as a flush of nervousness rose to my cheeks.

I tugged my little finger off from her grip and slid my hands into my pockets, refraining from any further embarrassments.

‘Haha, you can’t even lie properly, can you?

You’re so in love with me, right?

Right?

C’mon then, propose me right now!’

She giggled like a baby and kicked me hard on my right ankle.

Now don’t shy away like a village girl and propose me now.

C’monnnn!

She said and started laughing her lungs out.

#Saviour #prompt #review

| A Poet True |

If I had wings and poet's skill
A Muse at hand and time to kill
I'd scribe for you such noble verses
About the beauty Nature nurses
Inside a bud, on bough with leaf
Where wonderful is the motif

I'd take my pen, like Bard with quill
Pour forth a stream, sublime and still
Place pleasant poem on the pages
A song of love that never ages
As old as moon and starry host
Or sea that creeps along the coast

If I could be the dew at dawn
Lay down like jewels on leafy lawn
I'd sparkle with the Muse's magic
Rewrite those rhymes of truth so tragic
Have Hector and Achilles yield
Bid both lay down their sword and shield

If I composed like kindly Keats
Laid lines where earth and heaven meets
My poems would be less pedantic
They'd bloom like rustic rose romantic
Then I would be a poet true
And I would touch the heart of you.
#review #poetry #Saviour

Ah! How we all long to be a poet true.

You’re drunk.

It’s a birthday party and everybody’s dancing. You have drunk off your limits and now you’re searching for a room to relax a bit.

You finally find a room and the door’s already open.

But you see there’s a girl in there. She’s holding her forehead with both her hands like she has committed a dark sin.

Maybe she drank, too.

‘Excuse me. Do you mind if I sit in here? Actually, there’s too much noise in the hall.’

‘Sure.’

You sit beside her on the same bed and venture what’s wrong with her.

‘I’m drunk and it’s my first time,’ she says, mulls over something, and continues, ‘I shouldn’t have had so much.’

And, as she says that, the light goes off.

The power supply’s cut.

‘Oh, my.’ She mumbles inside her trembling lips, picks herself up, and sits afar from where she was sitting earlier.

‘My cell phone’s in the hall,’ she says, again within herself.

She’s not afraid of darkness. She is afraid of a man in darkness.

You sense the gravity of the situation and leave the room, straight away. And a few minutes later, you return with a flashlight on.

‘May I now come in, madam?’ You say in a sarcastic tone.

‘Haha, how sweet. Come on in.’ She says to you, with a small, warm smile.

‘Not all men are same.’ She says, this time to her inner-self.

"Build a character in such a way that even in a dark room, a girl feels safe with you."

#Saviour #review #random

I was with my mother at the best shoe shop in my district.

‘Ma’am, tell me, how can I help you?’

‘Do you have some men’s sandals for him?’ mother asked and craned her head towards me, to hint the shopkeeper that she’s talking about me.

‘Yes, ma’am. What’s his shoe size?’

‘10.’

‘Just a minute, ma’am. I’ll be back with the bests we have.’

He went to the other room, swarmed up the ladder and brought 5–6 best pairs with him. Like he said.

‘Which one of those do you like?’ she asked me, once I was finished up trying them all.

‘This greyish one. It has a trendy look.’

‘Okay. What’s the price of that grey one?’ my mother asked the shopkeeper in a polite tone.

‘Just 1100. But since you’ve come here for the first time, ma’am, there’s a 10% discount for you.’ He budged his fingers onto the calculator, just to show us the 10% calculation.

‘Here it is ma’am. Only nine-hundred-and-ninety rupees,’ he said.

My mother’s eyes first flickered, then lay down on the floor for a couple of seconds. Mulling.

Then all of a sudden, she looked at me dubiously, waiting for my reply.

I read the tangling lines on her brow and said;

‘I don’t want those Sandals, Maa.’

I paused, took a deep breath and continued, ‘The red one seems perfect. What’s its price?’ I asked the shopkeeper while looking straight into his eyes, without any shame.

‘550 including the 10% off.’

‘Pack that red one.’ I said while holding back my tears, not because we couldn’t afford it. Because my mother was humiliated as she didn’t buy me those grey sandals.

She didn’t say a word but I sensed it from her eyes.

We’re middle-class people and we have to think twice before buying anything expensive.

But hey, rest assured!

Time changes.

And mine will change pretty soon, too, I can promise you that.
#review #random #Saviour

| Poetic Death |

My poor, poetic stream has ceased
The poet in me has deceased
Within my garret's graveyard gloom
He rots like corpse in toxic tomb

My poems now are paltry things
They're weak and worn and wear no wings
Caked hard, with cruellest, crystal crust
They crumble into dirt and dust

My stanzas set like stagnant sun
With rhymes, they have no race to run
For ink has curdled and congealed
Set hard as sword or soldier's shield

My compositions cannot flow
Compacted, as they are in snow
Ice-bound inside a glacial glade
In shadow land of sunless shade

My poor poetic stream subsides
Turns off like tap and turns like tides
The poet, in me, meets no more
With muse upon her sacred shore

She says she cannot make ends meet
So sells herself upon the street
Says all her dreaming days are dead
Now poet rots alone unread.

#review #Saviour #poetry
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