Wild

It feels great to share my writings with you. I really hope you like my effort!

Wild

By Meher Gandhi

This feeling mustn’t exist,
Much like the word itself.
Even though Wilde used it
And decorated it with guiltlessness.

It is causing me giddiness,
I can feel all my senses,
Blaming me for the senselessness.
This blank sheet adds to my helplessness.

Sometimes the sheet is not a canvas
It is merely a lock.
The pen is not a sword
It is the only key.

My heart is yearning
And my mind daring
Me to spill out syllables
I haven’t formed yet.

This reaches a peak,
Until I start blurting
Whatever it takes to calm the burning.
Here the sheet starts fuming.

This desire is backed,
This page is seemingly crowded,
With words that may be absurd,
And strings devoid of a rhyme.

But as long as it soothes
This angelic devil in me,
I remain in peace even though I know
It will be awaken without a sign.

At least there is something pouring,
From the jar of words that I own unknown.
A catharsis if you may,
Until this page is full blown.

This fire does not demand,
To be put out.
Only demands to be fed,
With words unspoken aloud.

Mustn’t this feeling exist
Much like the word itself
Which is embellished with guiltlessness
By wild Wilde-like minds?

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This is probably my third or fourth poem that I’ve dedicated to the pens and papers that don’t leave my side and probably my second or third poem that talks about a writer’s block!

I really hope you liked reading it and hope all the writers and poets could relate.

Let me know what you think about this poem of mine in the comments section below! Don’t forget to leave a like!

Check out my previous post here.

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With love,

Meher