the suffocated poet

In this hot sultry afternoon,
With people shouting at the top of their voices,
As sweat trip down their dusky toned faces,
My poetry is lost.

Once in a while
I try to write,
But in between I just collapse,
The sounds rotate in my mind,
Merging my thoughts and words,
And nothing comes out.

Some say I need a break,
I say I need lots of them,
The heat is rising beyond its level,
And I find it hard to cope.

Now it has started raining,
I look through my office window
And just watch,
The piercing arrows,
How I wish I could feel the needles,
How I wish I could release my pains.

There are so many things I want to talk about,
So many a things to share,
But neither do I find the words
nor do I find the thoughts.
And I look blankly outside.

The world beyond the window
Seems so tempting,
It neither deals in prose nor in poetry,
I wish I could cross the border,
I am a cursed soul
in the custody of a worn out body.

No, I don’t wish for death,
I want to live
All over again,
I want to feel everything that I have not felt,
I want to feel the world beyond my closed windowpane.

As slowly I return to my old rugged seat,
Away from the world of imagery
In between mundane deeds,
I have lost my poetry.