And Then...

The thought of writing poetry,
gives me a greater pleasure..
than writing a poem itself.
From early dawn, I finish odd jobs,
With eager breath, knowing that,
When the right time comes,
A hushed silence would guard my door,
And a sweet fragrance would fill the room.
Only then, I shall begin to write,
my much awaited line.
A few verses in my note-book,
And I close my eyes.
A sweet dream of new poems,
Plays in my eyes.
Yet I don’t write a poem.
If people make a hurried request,
I smile with a glint of mischief.
“what’s the hurry?”, I reply,
“I’ll write when I feel like”.

Now and then my mind soars,
Far beyond the horizon of crimson desires,
A precious breeze blows,
My unwritten poems embrace me,
In a playful mood,
Like the waves on the bosom of a river.
These words yet to be born,
Like flowers half grown, leave me,
Only to come back, time and again…