Oft’ I marvel at poets and their words

Oft’ I wonder,

If poetry is my escape

or an orifice that articulates my depth

Oft’ I dread that day when I might run out of words

or be spent of feelings

Wading through such musings,

Oft’ have I concluded –

Poetry is my odyssey to a parallel universe

which reckons no bounds

bounded within the frontier of fantasy,

Where I can be a bird, a tree

A desert,a sea

I can be a goddess or a whore,

The ghost of a lover,

A devil or a saviour from an ancient lore;

My words could be-

A bouillon of seduction,

A promise of love,

A lament of separation,

A war cry,

The theme of a funeral march,

or a jamboree of glee;

This cuneiform universe knows all my pains and sorrow,

Recognises all my lovers and haters alike

And like this realm of cruel reality that commands me

My hold on my words is as staunch as the depth of my emotions

On my call shall the galaxies here laugh or cry

Upon my wish shall I go where to I can fly