The Writers’ Block
Often my words flow like a stream
A few rocks here and there,
My words shaping them,
They hone my words,
Supporting them like a crossbeam.
But once I faced a lofty stone
That waters could not pass,
The words that could jump about
Spurting incessantly from my mouth,
And brought rain cyclone.
After hitting the rock,
Those words had become still
And people called it many names,
Depression, Dysthymia, Melancholia,
The learned named it Writers’ Block.
How could one whose pen just drew
A million words into the air
With so much flair
Could stop?
For the mind is a cage and words just flew.
I hit rock bottom
And dug it deep
To find the cause
For the fallen words
Like leaves in Autumn.
And then I understood the writers’ block
Is nothing but a season change
For my mind to replenish itself
Like the winter lake that freezes
And hits many icebergs.
That melt as soon as summer arrives
And the writers’ block whoever survives
Is born again like the melted lake
That has clearer and frothier waves
And is ready to cross the writer’s block
Like a new rivery is unblocked.
