Sunday, 18 December 2016

My words

The more I try to discard them,
these words just cling to me.
Poor vagabond souls;
they beseech me to pick them up.
I know they won't leave me alone,
until I write them down.
In haphazard symmetry,
or in well planned rhymes.
These words, they come to me ,
in a rush, taking me along
to the heights of ecstacy
as they unfold one by one
in lines of my own poetry.
I wonder when they change
their meanings to convey 
what I never meant to be.
I am not their master anymore
when they catch hold of me .

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