Almost threateningly fatal.
Dormant dimmed brain of mine,apt and inviting prey,
Been demented since awful April!
Earnestly eager to get healed,
I've enacted the preposterous tribal dance to the write(right) gods and appealed.
They unmistakably ignored my pleas,
and my mind still remains stuck,stagnant ,in a frigid freeze.
Changed my workspace to the garden,
To suck in the fresh air,clear my brain and brighten.
Result: Chewed half a pencil,
retarded alien patterns in the muck,and a weak wasted writers' will.
Countless imaginary "stories" with no beginnings,
Right Brain-dead till late evenings.
Waiting on this blasted writers' block to clear soon,
Hopefully,the rains should clean the slates, in Judicious June.
2 comments:
The poem gives such a bunch of wonderful visuals, that you begin to wonder if the mind is actually rotting. Wonder what you can come up with when you think you arent brain-dead:P
The way you look into life is quite nice. :)
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