The muse is like a mouse
that Creeps into unwanted places
Eats up grains of thought
killed by cats of worldly affairs
Spreads plagues of restlessness
In a poet or writer
Breeds on decayed thoughts
Sometimes eaten by egoistic snakes
It can make holes in our hearts to intrude
So as to settle in it for sometime.
It may leave that abode for another.
Alas it is often hunted by the wise man of the world!
No comments:
Post a Comment