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it’s dull and
numb,
the thought;
hesitant grey
streaks of rain,
they escape over
clingy consciousness,
pouring sweat;
wordless muse builds
seething storm of weariness,
it storms at nooks
and corners
yearning outpour,
helpless;
it’s numb and
dumb, seeds
craving gush of
rain mourn…
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Love that you've used "storm" as both noun AND verb here. Well done!
ReplyDeletewordless muse builds
ReplyDeleteseething storm of weariness,... that perfectly expresses what I feel now...
Rajani already picked my favorite lines. This lull is suffocating, isn't it? Very well put.
ReplyDeleteVery claustrophobic.
ReplyDeleteYou create quite an emotive poem with these descriptions.
ReplyDeleteThis storm seems like a noose being pulled....
ReplyDeleteOuch -- oh would it pour. May Indra feed Saraswati and the muses sing.
ReplyDeleteA portrait of a very unhappy muse --- perhaps a cautionary tale as to what can happen if a muse isn't fed or pushed too hard. Well done :)
ReplyDeleteThank you all...!
ReplyDelete