Writer’s block

This is the second poem in the anthology of poems called Lifecycle of a poem.

“Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite:
“Fool!” said my muse to me, “look in thy heart, and write.”
― Philip Sidney, Astrophel and Stella

When you hit a wall
a big wall;
which breaks your convictions
and shatters it all
that big wall of
angst, pain, and insecurity
which mocks your artist
and its withering creativity

You are stuck in that vicious circle
creation and abandonment
and almost forget to feel
the consequences of your
actions, the numbing pain
and its regret

You are dipping your bony fingers
in your mushy brain
and smushing and
kneading it for the inspiration
scratching your head
and looking fervently for the thoughts
and every single one failed to appear

Your cauldron of thoughts
is empty and has run dry
the nib is cracking
and the blots
are spreading the darkness
and killing you alive

The soliloquy wilderness
and the cacophony which
deeply resides
the thoughts are dying
an untimely death
they are being skinned alive

The silence in the
mind creates
that awful stillness;
I’m screaming and choked
at the same time,
when my nib refuses
to that dance of creation
on a papyrus.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

P.S: If you are interested in reading my previous anthologies, below are the links.

Seven Deadly sins

Five Elements of nature