I anticipate a poem in my head

To come into it like rains in monsoon,

But my skull is hollow and deserted

With the brightness of moonlight during noon

But the sun dresses dark in the red sky

And rains are ugly like their cotton'd wombs,

To my dumb-ness inspirations are shy

And the muse mother rests in her new tombs

Maybe it's just my pen- dumber than me

Unable of deciphering my mind

Or sad still over the ink pots spilt three

Which together did my creations bind

But I think in rhymes and speak in verse,

Worlds of fantasy in dreams I roam,

There's music in meows and meaning in purrs,

When thought about- life itself is a poem...

~Ajay

3/10/17