Ek Jaan

It's difficult to write
Poetry
On a winter afternoon
Grey
And dull
Darkness falling
Like a furry moth
(though it's not 4 o' clock yet)
Enveloping me
In a sort of suffocating vacuity
An aching nothingness
That comes from
The pent up frustration
Of having to accept
That you're mediocre
I've tried my best
To keep it from you
Tried my best
To piece together
Short
`Staccato
Sentences
With pregnant gaps
And jagged edges
Like a grey
Winter afternoon
Struggling to hold on
To it's weak light
Because it's not
4 o' clock yet
Because I'm only
twenty eight yet
An empty, passionless poet
At twenty eight.
Tried my best
So you wouldn't know
But perhaps,
You already know
That I can't anymore
That one can't have
Writer's Block forever.
That it was
Just a defence mechanism
That I am
Only a mediocre person
Terrified of my mediocrity.