! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! As The Ink Begins To Run...! ! ! ! ! ! !

A sheaf of papers got swept with the breeze,
Like kites my poems took flight with ease.
I watched as drifted and fell to the ground,
On the freshly mowed grass, without a sound.

Is there anything new about my thoughts?
I wondered feeling a bit startled and distraught.
What ever makes me feel they are so very unique?
Aren’t they intrinsic part of being human, felt intrigued?

Dark clouds gathered and hid the setting Sun,
Soon light showers soaked the papers, ink began to run,
Like salty tears wet the cheeks of an overwhelmed heart.
How come I feel free … I muttered to no one with a start.

by Mamta Agarwal

Comments (10)

Sometimes our thoughts rise, without blotting paper, they then fly back into the silence of our mind, to return again more clear. You write so beautifully Mamta, they must return refreshed. Bob
good allegorical write, Mamta...the paper there is your mind...soaring like kite and wetted with running ink...both give rise to nice poetic imgeries...thanks...10
how wonderfully you have expressed what we all poets feel but all the same when we express we feel so light.
Dark clouds gathered and hid the setting Sun, Soon light showers soaked the papers, ink began to run, Like salty tears wet the cheeks of an overwhelmed heart. How come I feel free … I muttered to no one with a start. What a wonderful image of night, Mamta. The night has turned into the flow of creativity here. One can easily comprehend that how the overwhelmed heart of of a senstive being could transform the night into an ocean of ink (tears) . The voice and the colors of a true poetess are beautifully muted in this poem. Regards Naseer
Lovely poem with lilting sounds Sure your self search is profound CP
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