I do not write anymore

Words have not deserted me,
But I fail to convince myself
That they matter.
I do not write anymore.
A fire burns in my heart,
Fueled by impotent rage.
Ghosts of reality dances
Across my shut eyelids,
Daring me to dream,
Mocking my helplessness.
Darkness of the night
Crushing lonely vigil of my heart,
Crumpled bed belies sleepless nights.
Those with a purpose,
Even if they have not seen the light,
Are they blessed with peaceful nights?
Those who profess moral high ground,
Invoking higher authority
But vilify the living daily at every turn
Shedding crocodile tears,
How easily they have made
Hypocrisy  the norm!
Do I suffer in silence,
Or do I take up the pen?
Words have not deserted me,
But I am failing to convince myself
To write again.

Author: pranabaxom

Poetry is my passion. I am not a methodical writer. I have no set topics to write about. What I feel, perceive, think about, I will like to share in this blog. I open my mind to the world. Like the weather, sometimes my poems are cloudy, sometimes stormy. I always like to see sunshine streaming through the leaves of trees, so I hope I can share some of those sunshine with my readers.

17 thoughts on “I do not write anymore”

  4. Love your poem’s beauty of truth and truth of beauty (I have written this sentence after poet John Keats’ ‘beauty is truth, truth beauty,’ from poem “Ode on a Grecian Urn”). Yours is a profoundly romantic piece, Pranab, beautifully written for its vibrant imagery, though obvioulsy different from Keats. I can read the narrator’s discomfort with the evil-doers of our current world in the following lines, so eloquently expressed:

    “Those who profess moral high ground,
    Invoking higher authority
    But vilify the living daily at every turn
    Shedding crocodile tears,
    How easily they have made
    Hypocrisy the norm!”

    The closing verses express serious doubt within the poetic soul, yet there is hope as “words have not deserted me”. I think out of this state of weakness and vulnerability we are able to emerge again, reach the surface and keep ourselves afloat.

    A butterfly displays its wings of hope, yet it has to avoid flying too high. Remember the Greek myth of the Icarus’ flight; the wings made by his father Daedalus melt with the sun and Icarus falls into the deepest ocean. I think this myth was in the back of my mind when I wrote my poem “Afloat”. I also had in mind a poem by Sylvia Plath, “Words”, where a white skull falls into the water and the poet contemplates life “from the bottom of the pool”. Unlike Icarus and Plath the subject of my poem gathers the necessary strength to move up and reach the surface of the water. In doing so, the temporary failure is taken as a life lesson trying to reach balance in life, swimming or flying again but not too high: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2018/10/27/afloat-2/

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Wow, your kind, sweet words will lift anyone’s spirits. It certainly lifted mine. Many thanks. Will respond at length later.
      Once you have touched the sky
      You will soar
      Even if your wings are clipped
      The abyss is just temporary distraction
      A mind that has seen the light
      Does not need eyes to see

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

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