SNAKES IN MY MIND MA…

1.SNAKES IN MY MIND MA – Two Poems

Last night Mom had a horrible dream,

And she woke up with a scream.

 

She’d seen lots and lots of snakes,

And one of them biting me!

 

Worried,

She called me up.

Me, poor me,

A thousand miles away.

And terrified,

She narrated her dream.

Amidst sobs and futile prayer.

 

Her sobs and tears were too much for me,

So I comforted her with my jokes.

And promised, to stay away from snakes,

And all kinds of ropes!

 

After an effort of half-an-hour,

I managed to make her smile.

 

A dream connecting me and her,

Over a thousand miles.

 

If only Ma,

You could read my mind.

You would’ve seen those snakes.

Not literally,

Curled up to my skin.

But my soul

Do they shake.

 

Slithering and slipping,

Inside my brain,

These snakes are many in  number.

Of rebellion, failure, revolt they say,

And steal me

Of my slumber.

 

No venomous snake Ma,

Can be worse than these.

For venom makes you die Ma,

But these,

Won’t let me live at ease.

 

You’re terrified of this dream Ma,

And you wake up with a scream.

 

But I sleep with these snakes Ma,

Wishing it was a dream.

2.WOES OF A WRITER – Two Poems

The tormented brain

Refuses.

To give in its thoughts to the writer.

As the distraught heart

Waits

In grave anticipation, for days more brighter.

 

The sea of thoughts,

Collides, furiously with the rocks of the soul.

And nothing but a darkness is revealed,

A darkness, blacker than coal.

 

The fingers, now tired

Holding the pen.

Finally give up on it.

As the unwritten paper is torn,

With great pity; bit-by-bit.

 

There is not a greater pathos,

Than an unfinished work.

For behind his mind,

The unfinished lines always lurk.

 

And while the writer’s asleep,

Like a tired mother after an unsuccessful birth.

I hear the thoughts talking amongst themselves,

With great plethora of mirth.

 

They talked of giving him

Sleepless nights.

So to take his miseries

To even greater heights.

 

And they cackled and laughed,

Imagining his woes.

And merrily they danced,

Getting high on his lows.

 

Days went on,

But the untamed thoughts wouldn’t give in to words.

Whether the writer sat in silence

Or meditated amongst the chirping of birds.

 

He questioned his own abilities,

On his skills he lost trust.

As his desk got dirtier,

His papers gained fresh layers of dust.

 

But one fine day,

The untamed thoughts saw themselves

Being woven into words.

Their desperation increased,

As their shouts

To disturb the writer

Went unheard.

 

And as words poured themselves,

Of the thoughts once berated.

A song was made,

A melody was created.

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