Let me write

Let me write all the poetry
my hand would allow me to.
My mind as it is
is never completely written.
Always leaves something for itself.
I could have written five more
lines here. But, no.
There is a strain to hold back
and let it be a raised pen
shouting out ambiguities.
In protest and helplessness.

To find a silent blind spot
is what I am always after.
I shoo away other thoughts
clustering like nuclei
in a just born universe.
And concentrate on a brink
of an idea and try to
reach you in mid-air.
Where I know you too are
Falling through all this.
This emptiness and noise
This compromise and choice.

In simple things I find the threads
to tie yourself up for a moment.
A spidery web around your thoughts
which you would notice while clearing up.
And before it ends. That's it.