A pot of ink, with it a quill
Maybe, I think, that is what will
Satisfy my dear little heart
And help create a piece of art
For I just cannot seem to find,
To say that which is on my mind,
Any words, none at all, to write
Though I do try with all my might
Then I take a moment, stop, think:
Possibly it isn’t the ink,
Maybe I am trying too hard,
I may need to let down my guard,
Maybe it’s then the words will flow;
It’s a thought, I don’t really know
It’s prose I truly wish to craft
(Each wish is now a mere draft)
Is this writer’s-prosaic-block,
No sand, no grav’l, but walls of rock?
Maybe I should just get away
Enjoy a sunny autumn day
Then, maybe, upon my return
Out the imprisoned thoughts will churn..


~ Karishma


Add Yours
  1. Neha

    Hahaha! Funny how the same thing happens to me. The only difference being I attempt to write poetry and prose happens instead! But yeah, don’t try too hard! The more you try, the greater the block!

    • Karishma

      I’m trying to get all the random thoughts out now, so that the rest of them organise themselves again. *sigh*
      Here’s hoping (and they’re not high hopes)
      You soon write a poem and I, prose.


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