The Little Voice



It’s been over five months by now,

I want to fill up the pages. But how?

I need to write a poem, at least a little rhyme,

But my mind won’t speak; it’s doing a dumb mime.



Flipping through blank pages, that I need to fill,

A thought haunts me, against my weak will.

A twisted little voice, in my head it screams,

‘The time has now come to rip up your dreams!’



I try to shake it off, but it will not budge. 

I cry, ‘Please go away, what is your grudge?’

The little voice lets out a laugh, a cold, cold one,

‘Believe me, you silly girl, your writing days are done!’



I draw out a pen and a blank blue page,

‘Watch me as I write,’ I shout out in rage.

But the page remains blank. The pen remains still,

The little voice, it mocks at me, ‘That sure is some skill!’



Moments pass by, I try and I try,

But my mind is still, it’s numb and it’s dry.

Where are my words? Are they lost?

Where are my thoughts?  Did they exhaust?



The little voice smirks and says, ‘Hard isn’t it?

When the candle won’t burn, although it’s lit?

Listen to me, I tell the truth, though it isn’t much,

All I want to say is that—you’ve lost your touch.



‘If you’re out of paper, you can use your shirt.

If you’re out of ink, you can etch on dirt.

But when you’re out of thoughts, where will you go?

Thoughts are not for sale, are they? O, no!’



‘When I’m out of thoughts,’ said I 

‘I will wait for them, not cry.

I know my thoughts will return to me.

So go back! Who invited you for tea?’



Saying so, I fill up the entire blue page.

Seeing so, the little voice, screams in rage.

I smile at my work. I smile yet again.

The little voice keeps screaming, as if in pain.





Where have you fled to, you little voice?

Far away it must be, you had no choice.

Finally a poem! I pat my little head.

Which one is it? It’s the one you’ve just read.



******



13th August, 2007