Poetry

Midnight hour sets on the clock

Mother moon, lights up the deep black sky

The ray of light strikes on the surface of my bedroom window

Appears to disturb my sleep cycle

– Meanwhile,

I am tossing and turning unable to find comfort

Alphabetical letters whirled inside my head

Images and shapes throbbing my brain

looking to cluster and birth a meaning.

Under a teeny cylinder candlelight

I oblige to transcribe down my thoughts

Perhaps a poet I come to be?

~~~~

I glimpse down on the paper

Ponderous words exert feelings of discontentment and concern

The muse is coming stronger like a tam tam beat

So words are climbing down as though on the activist dance-hall

– Unbelievable!

They are revolutionise words

In form that pursuit a cause

It seems like my clever in action.

I rebel against my thoughts

I attempt to replace bitter lines with  soft sentences

In the end the true rhythm of my heart reveals – A superlative minder

This poet I am

~~~~

Now the candlelight goes out, and

I’m sitting in the dark thinking.

~~~~

Thus, I bump into some difficult tunnels

To hear the voices, to interpret them,

then to feed them accordingly through the mind of the reader and listener.

Not an easy task. Sorry for those who think this way.

– Controversial!

Some depict me as a feminist thinker, a citizen poet--

Others view my approaches as 'A bowl of mixing salad.'

Either one bothers me not

What matters to me is the one life that I touch and make the difference.

There's always one indeed, not to say many

It's the power projected in the pen

The free verse unravel,

and create a piece of evocative writing,

Which is free to revise at any time-- makes me the poet I am.