WHEN A POEM WILL COME.....

With a blank sheet before me
I suddenly grow apprehensive,
What will happen
If a poem will come? .....

Will the surroundings get changed?
Or all of a sudden
A ruby-red bud will bloom
In the thorny crown
Of a dull, dirty cactus?

Will this drab afternoon
Vaporize and vanish
In the purple clouds?
And will the blue words
Drizzle by themselves,
Drenching and intoxicating
My thirsty mind?....

When a poem will come
I will get rejuvenated
Like a plant lifting itself
After the first April-showers,
And the air will become vibrant
As if a flock of invisible birds
Is flying in circles in the sky,
And the flapping of their wings
Creating the rhythm of a novel metre...

Then I will leave peeping
In the mirror again and again,
Because my poem will show me
The real me, my real face;
And the fragrance of  a new meaning
Of my own existence
Will start flowing through my blood,
And out of my dejection and gloom
A dewlike song will bloom.