Searching for the right words
My fingers
curl around
thoughts…
creating indentations
in more than one way.
My pen—
a prisoner with life sentence
condemned by words
or lack of them!
The page is empty.
The words—
clumsy like a child, a jokester, a madman,
or a psycho.
My thoughts—
my friend, my lover, my enemy
never leaves me
even when I rest
my thoughts provoke
and explore the possibilities...
My poor pen—
silently knows my minds mêlée
of finding just the right words
and my paper—
suffers the pressure,
I feel its pain,
the embracement of infertility
and the page...
remains empty!