A Crippled Poem
Today as I sit to write a poem,
I feel a strange inability within my head.
Unable to put words together,
Unable to put a certain rhythm to my lines.
My mind is wandering randomly,
Running around in the cosmos of thoughts
Where lines are coming to my mind
But none are related to each other.
I am trying hard to put it together
But my thoughts are too messy.
So I had this idea of scribbling,
This hapazat, crippled poem.
It is a weird feeling to not have a certain topic,
To temporarily lose the ability to restrict thoughts.
I guess that's why everyone can't be a poet,
Because everyone can't put a rhythm.
We say poem is a way to express our feelings.
So the people who write them regularly,
I wonder if they are really fickle hearted
Or they are capable of putting up fake feelings.
But all the great poets didn't write every other day,
They just wrote when the felt certain things
That's the reason maybe they are great,
They write about momentary feelings.
I feel, if a poet wrote a poem on aurora borealis,
He won't write it in a winter night,
Rather he would write it in March
When he would miss those cold winter days.
We tend to remember the beautiful moments,
When we are in a contrasting situation.
We don't feel the love when we get it,
We tend to feel it, miss it when we lack it.
By the way, did you realize how randomly my context changed,
From winter nights to lack of love?
Yes, that's what I meant when I said,
That I am scribbling a crippled poem.
2020-07-28 18:37:16
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