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!