Personal / Interests

The Writer’s Squall!

The clock strikes midnight
Twice in a day –
Once it is within
And then without

The ink bleeds across paper
The rain onto the land
Siphoning off the thoughts
and memories into sand

Where do all those drops go?
And why are some bigger?
If storms are poets’ muses,
What then are summers?

The moody, brewing grey
Of the age hardened paper
The pitter patter droplets
And the swish of turning pages

Silver linings appear – neatly
outlining the wet cotton – and
darkened edges are thickened,
a smudged full stop

The ink had not dried yet
and then there was a comma
where things are meant to end
few others began

The stop became a pause,
a few pages turned
summer storms are squalls
But never ones to stay

The parched earth now breathes
The empty papers rustle
Where once there was a drought
Floods choose to rule

The parchment soaks it up
The blotter mirrors,
The windows creaking open
Sunlight floods in

The clock strikes midday
Twice in a day – the
Soul once without
now has it within.

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3 thoughts on “The Writer’s Squall!”

  1. This is how a poetry should be. It shows how you process and think in that gloomy scenario perfectly ..beginning and end are perfection and that random thought in between ..”If storms are poets’ muses,
    What then are summers?”.. Beauty poet Divu..keep impressing

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much Vedhu ❤ I wanted to twist the gloomy scenario to one of hope and give direction to the random thoughts I had. As usual, you have exactly pointed out those lines I loved writing! ❤ Here's to that.

      Liked by 1 person

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