Writing Melancholy

When the ferocity of pain

pierces the bounds of reason,

gushing in to the realms

of my mind,

and floods the corridors

of my heart;

when it rises up the levels

of strangulating heights

and just when I’m about

to drown in its tides,

I hold on to my pen

which inks the excessive

water, shaping it

to words and phrases.

Thus I’m unburdened

but the brazen words

never cease to invoke

sympathy, as though

the pain was maltreated.

The State Of Poemlessness

Like a poison rushing
through the veins,
positioning the brain
to cut off the links of life,
this state of poemlessness
intruded my mind,
and blocked the passage
of thoughts into pen.

The pen is waiting while
the hem of the paper is spread
begging for words, increasing
my desperation for intoxication.

The heart needs to intervene
to clear the scene in the brain
for the freedom of pen
and paper from a death of hunger.