Poetic Drizzle


An enchanting evening, a forgotten yesterday, the song of merriment, some bastard moments, ravishing future, and a journey to nowhere; life is a goose that sometimes lays a golden egg.

The street is wet because of the sudden, unexpected shower. There is dampness in the air. The sky is dark like darkness. The heart has no yearning. A cat meows and a chair squeaks. Inside the womb of time, a zillion moments breathe.

In the distance a light flickers; the cosmos world is barren. Some cars honk, then a well of silence. Quietly, quietness looms larger. 

The vicissitudes of being a writer, the blocks, the reluctance of the muse to come, the paucity of ideas, the lazy mind, idle thoughts, the temptation of basking in the warmth of nothingness, the sheer joy of giving up, but the Grecian urn, the odes, Shakespearean sonnets, the Joycean prose, the dynamics of sentences, the beautiful struggle, they push you on.

Stars of hope, leafy neighbourhood, the gentle raindrops, the shimmering windowpane; a lull, a pause, and then the tinkling of the goblet in heaven, the gay mood of the atmosphere, and I drift from the starting point to the threshold, and then back to the beginning of somewhere.

Wary weariness, locks and keys, complex algebra, the soul’s sojourn; another dimension, different zone, life’s mishaps; the rains stop falling, the poetic drizzle entices me and I surrender to the greatest temptress, nature.

-          NZ

20.12.2019
BN: 211 


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