Sometime back i had ideas a lot
Where they are now i know not.
I google search my mind
But i find anything not.
The barren desert has become my mind,
Dead ideas becoming the vultures' find.
The hope of oasis burning bright
Shattering mirages putting a fight
By cutting the wings of my mind's flight
Undithered my mind moves on
Coming up with lines to write on
As the lines start pouring
My mind starts whirring….
The poem now has to end
As the oasis is just across the bend
Not the watery mirage which deceives
But the satisfaction which the soul receives
Proud of the battle-hard scars
Each one telling its own story
But the poem has its own story
One that is gory
But its dying a soldier's death
Proud of it deed
Of the fodder it gave my mind to feed
Bleeds as the blood spurt through the vein
Its soul rejoicing this bane
The content eyes it closes
The gushing blood not now oozes
And the poem is no more.
My mind saluties the sacrifice and hope you guys also pay due respects. :-)