Sorry for the sudden disappearance.. Blame it on the writer's block!!
It seems Insipiration with a capital "I" will only hit me when it wants to...
But it did the other day, and so here you are with my latest (and no so much polished) creation.. about lack of Inspiration.
(The English lit lovers will recognize some references to Keats and his Ode to a Nightingale here)
Tributes to Inspiration
Listen Listen.
To the Negative Immortal,
Casting soliloquies
Upon the world.
Dreamer hidden behind
A metaphysical mystery,
A stifled cry of romance.
And so I ask you: what of the promised vintage,
Cooled in the cold catacombs of dirt?
The sweet taste of Flora
Has been drunk by the worms,
So it seems…
And the voyage that brushed my lips
Has fled to kiss another.
Soft wings of Poesy,
You have left without me,
So it seems…
A mixture of thoughts,
Mingled with blushes
And blooms
Of imagination.
Is this a crack in the back of my head?
The mixture dances, flutters,
Flows. Flows out
On to the dark and cold
Concrete ground of life.
Precious thoughts,
You have been stained with the dust,
Sombre plague of City.
One could feel the moss under a dreamer’s feet
As he swoons to the song
Of a Nightingale.
Hear now, the panting presence
Of humanity, sucking on emerald
The last bits and pieces
Of a dying Nature.
I stretch tired fingers and
Touch, feeling the youth
Of soft cold grass.
There, the footprints
of heartbroken phantoms,
Who have bowed one last time
to the bellowing crowd,
Thrown out a kiss to one
And many lovers,
And disappeared..
Gone into the unknown, the Belle Dame’s lair
Trading a tear for Merci
So it seems…
Tracing out the wet contours
of broken pasts,
Let the sharpness strike me,
Nurse my thoughts back to health.
Will it seem,
I find Inspiration?
