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(visakhapatnam, india)

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Burden of Writing Poetry

I'm trapped
In my own poetry;
Poetry morphed into
A crown of thorns
Adorning my head;
A cross I bear:
Each word, a nail driven
Into me to secure me...
Can no longer carry
This burden called life
Forever trapped...

Thrown into a murky hole
The hole is my connect
Food, air and water
Roll down the hole
Day and night are displayed
Through the hole;

Is Poetry
My clock
My vigil,
My guard,
My sustenance?

Submitted: Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, May 21, 2013

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Comments about this poem (' Summer Showers ' by indira babbellapati )

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  • Valsa George (5/30/2013 6:54:00 AM)

    At times poetry becomes a compelling obsession! Our mind grows sometimes agitated when it gets pregnant with ideas and words are incapable of expressing them through powerful linkage! ! A wonderful poem

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  • Swetha Vvr (5/25/2013 5:32:00 AM)

    trapped....yes! if not how can life resemble smartness with dignity....taking pride being a poet.
    hope u're doing good mam.
    uR iNDiAN

  • Tirupathi Chandrupatla (5/24/2013 12:12:00 PM)

    Let poetry be a means to convey one's feelings. Let it be only a burden to the extent that one cannot hold them inside any longer. Nice poem.

  • Chandra Thiagarajan (5/22/2013 11:19:00 AM)

    A fascinating poem which reflects the qualities of any poet! SO, so beautiful, Indira ! ENJOYED!

  • Aftab Alam Khursheed (5/21/2013 9:18:00 PM)

    It is gifted one slightly shifted one when bathed into the ocean of poetry who want to go back...nice one

  • David Wood (5/21/2013 6:52:00 AM)

    Poetry is that bitter/sweet pill that enslaves us all. A Lovely poem.

  • Shahzia Batool (5/21/2013 2:36:00 AM)

    A sensitive soul is a willing slave to the power of poetry! ! !

  • Gajanan Mishra (5/21/2013 1:13:00 AM)

    wonderful, really wonderful, many many thanks indira,

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