I’ve lost the nack of poetry,
Lost the string of rhyme,
I had it once, strong and good.
But I’ve lost it all in time.
I’ve searched for it through pages,
And peeked for it through locks,
Drained wine bottles,
Drowned myself in troubles,
And squeezed blood outta rocks.
I’ve sailed the seven seas you know,
Almost drowned in the eighth.
Lost a lot but not forgot
Verse- is what’s at stake.
I’ve been to Timbuktu and back,
Looked through the throws of love,
Why I’ve even traded life itself!
With golden heaven above.
I’ve travelled in a wooden blue box,
Got lost and found in time,
Searched mountains of gold, grain and cold
But not a scent of rhyme.
I’ve interrogated the young, the old.
Beseeched mirrors and smoke.
Begged a red Genie spirit
And observed the inside of a dragon’s throat.
So where will I find it?
This poetry, verse and rhyme.
In the quiet reflection of a mirror,
In the visions of the blind.
For suddenly I realized, to stand the test of time.
Poetry, be an art, of the heart – not mind.
