An hour before the dawn
When I wake up
To write the unwritten,
Words don’t listen to my call,
Thoughts seem yet relishing a deep slumber.
This rubbish that comes out still
Must I struggle to compose so
That you give it a go
And may inadvertently
Boost my poetic ego.
Adorned with unresponsive words
Resemble indifferent strangers with callous looks,
Crowding the clumsy creative space around,
Thus, aborting a timeless creation
For its no certain sin.
A divine bliss is
To have your inspired thoughts
Lead you to pick choicest words
To wrap themselves in, for, then
Your Muse cherry-picks you to be the lyre,
For some soothing, soulful lyrics to flow by,
Decreeing mellow music to multiply eternally.
[Published earlier in StoryMirror]