As I closed my door and lay down to sleep
A poem came and violently knocked at my door
Being late, I put a rein on my desire to admit it in
In my sleep I could hear the faint sound of a knock

In the wee hours of the morn, as I sat up to house it
scattered phrases and broken lines floated around
A crazy excitement made me trap them in ink
But nothing worthwhile showed up on the writing pad

I found I had only violated the virginity of the paper
After hours of spasmodic labor pain
What came out was a stillborn with no heart beats
It lay limp before me and all excitement died down

It’s still body, I found had closely resembled me
Something of me was there stamped on it
How could I who had parented it
Callously discard it in a dustbin?

So I carefully stashed it away in a secret place
Where no one’s prying eyes would ever fall over it!

O, to be clear! Rid of all torments.
To see nothing but the future in your world of content.
Blue skies in your mind
Where your thoughts are straight
And never feel envy, disappointment or hate.

But thoughts are thoughts and thoughts
are only ever clouds so
as long as you’re thinking you don’t have a clear sky.
O, to be clear? Of all regrets and shame?
Without those you could not be the same.

Regrets are the train’s rails
And shame is the gravel beneath,
unmemorable, now unnoticeable.

Pain is the storm that strengthens the land.
Shame, regret, anger – the colours of your landscape.
And laughter is the sun as it rises above it all.