A warning well in advance, this calls for,
What you are about to read is beyond the regular.
Call it poetry, call it prose, call it utter crap,
But for reasons not quite explicable
An endless voice boomed in my head, "A poem, I must write!".
Could be the holiday that had ended too soon,
Or the sniffles that was bound to follow.
Could be that for days now, I would be alone
As the hubby hobnobbs across the north of India
Leaving me to handle the laundry on my own.
What's driving something this unusual, it doesn't matter,
There's surely no point harping on the cause.
Truth is, out of the blue, mesmerizing and magical,
Struck an avalanche of thoughts, ideas, dreams,
Threatening to bust the seams of my tiny little brain.
Leading to an urge to tell the world a million things
That in my head, whizzed, hopped and somersaulted.
Flashes of lands and faces seen and to be seen,
Crowding behind eyes shut, waiting to be set free,
"And what better way than through poetry!", cooed I.
So I sat down to paint a poetic picture,
Of the images in my head in all their glorious colours.
And just like that it halted, the whirlwind of my thoughts,
No kaleidoscope in words formed, as I had hoped for
The dull white of the blank sheet of paper, the only colour to be.
Poetry ain't my cup of tea, it dawned on me.
Then again, the day is meant to be beautiful
The flashes and images were for my head alone, maybe.
Beyond my reach, a kaleidoscope surely is,
But a fleeting wish for poetry, a poem in itself?, I wondered
And hence this feeble attempt, poetry or not.
344 more to go.