When letters wait
to pounce on a blank page
when thoughts crowd the mind
like frothing **** in a pond
I keep wondering
what poetry is to me
what poetry is to many

Is it not the language of the heart
with no intervention of gray matter
the unlocking of closed vaults
stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain
or giving a free rein to fancy
and flying on magic carpets
to lands forlorn

Sometimes it is
a glide into a sea of tranquillity
an escape from
the humdrum of the world
a flash of liberation
from assaults of pain
a sedative
to numb the turmoil
a sanctuary
for a burdened heart
a window
to look at the world through
a companion
when one is inconsolably alone
a candle flame
in a darkening world
a cloth line
to hang the ***** laundry
a water lily blooming
in the pool of tears
a shelter
in homelessness

sometimes it is a ladder
to climb up to Heavens
an angel on wings
with tidings of hope
peace in a world
braced for war

Poetry, if you are all these
let us fall at your feet
bless us in our art
may we splurge in fancy
and conjure up worlds from words!

our poems may not be light houses
but could be fireflies
on a starless night!

Sometimes life feels like
a punishment
Like it is this thing
that is keeping you,
Stopping your soul
from being intertwined
in the treetops
Or roaming free
in the waves
And dancing
in the wind

And then the guilt comes creeping
Shouldn't you be happy?
Shouldn't you be content?
You have so much
How dare you ask for more?

All I wanted was a rose
A reason
why you loved me on every red petal
A strong
Green stem to show the strength of our bond

But in reality
The rose died
The petals wilted and faded
and the stem went hard...

Much like your love for me