The Process of Writing

(This poem meditates on the journey of the creation of a poetic piece of literary work. It brings out the efforts made by a poet for the creative work.)

Miles are traveled, miles are crossed
and eyes never lose to the feet they guide
Names are given and ideas borrowed
and ideas form an emotional mudslide.

Tremors are felt, and winds embraced
seas are crossed in breathless leaps
Skies are searched for the stars they hide
and airs are studied in countless keeps

The worlds are matched with universe of mind
and moods of the heart are given a voice
and the subtle melodies oozing out provide
the truth : the poet's only real choice.

These Lights that Blind

(these lines contain the doubt that has been an integral part of my life)

this bubble nature of my mind
sometimes dim, sometimes dimmer,
like storms raising within myself
without an end, without a winner.

I see my face in every stone
but never have I picked one up
too many lives to choose one from
too few desires to live one enough.

My light shines up no place it falls
so much air that I gasp to breathe
a fish which lives in a sea so full
that it got buried in its own sheath.