Stuck in the sphere
of my writer’s block,
Like the infinity loop
Of my scattered thoughts.
Whirling on and on,
Just covering the perimeter,
But never make it to center,
Unaware of the actual depth,
With no grip at the loosing ends.
Some Blurry outlines of thoughts,
With parallel tangents and chords.
No hope of intersection,
And mere chances of coordination.
Makes me question my genius,
What’s the depth of my speculation,?
Do I know the radius of my imagination?
Is it due to lack of inspiration,
Or a shortfall in my dedication?
Maybe it’s due to full of anticipation,
And I can give some blame to my confusions.
A loads to say,
And a scads to hide.
My unadorned thoughts,
Have a hard time to decide.
Some wants to stay low,
While some wants to fly.
Why can’t I gather them all,
Why can’t I convince them all,
To converge and fit in a single spot,
To make some sense in my blank cardboard.
But all I have,
Are some metaphors and cliché,
Ready to crack my writer’s block again,
But I won’t fill my cardboard this time
Again with some metaphorical lines.
I’ll talk to myself in a while,
To figure out thoughts in my mind.
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