At first, you battle with your mind-
Trying to enslave your thoughts in
In tough words.
Forcefully attempting to knit meaning
In metaphors. Hoping they would
Grow wings one day.
But can clipped wings fly?
The caged birds sing?
The arrogant poet you're initially-
Not knowing the art of letting go-
The edgy arrogance smoothens out
To give way to a playfulness eventually.
You surrender to your mind and
Let yourself flow in uncharted
Territories.
The erstwhile Lake becomes a river
And you give it a chance to join
The ocean. Standing on the sidelines-
Slow, observant. Ready to borrow a
Glass of water from the eternal flow to
Make it into a verse.
Unsure always to declare it as a
Full-fledged poem-- Not being sure
Opens up innumerable possibilities.
Now you can be the Beginning, the End,
Or the middle. Or All of it, None of it or
Simply the in-between.