What were those things?
A range of icicles, jagged, hanging like swords
Or just words; shriveled and ragged
Shivering, cold, unused.
Feeling neglected, utterly confused?
There they hung precariously
from the periphery of my mind.
“Knock, knock, may we come in, may we?”
I baulked in dismay at this nocturnal intrusion
This weird confusion!
They started to pirouette and preen.
Hopping, skipping, like danseuses keen.
Now followed chaos; some missed and fell.
Some furtively kissed, but did not tell.
Some hissed, and rang the alarm bell
As I ran pell – mell
Chased by a welter of words; helter – skelter.
They raised their lettered arms, and cackled
I felt so fettered, so shackled.
“Use us, use us”, they yelled and clapped.
I was trapped in this wordy stampede; baited.
Bated breath, I waited.
An insect ill-fated.
SEPT/OCT 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
An academician, essayist-novelist -poet, I have an insane passion to write about everything under the sun or the moon! Some of my books like Ballad of Bapu: [a poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi] and Where are the lilacs? [a collection of 111 peace poems] have been internationally acclaimed. Flights from my terrace is my ebook of 58 essays on Smashwords .