Knock! Knock! And he slowly shuffled to the door
And through the glass pane at the top, saw
Someone with an evil grin, and said: Sure,
But I’m also unsure and by my own law
Will not allow you in.
As this guy went out for a run, he heard
Another knock and they came one after the other
Sometimes trampling the others. This herd
Was persistent but unable to stir
The creative cauldron in him.
They were there all the time, trying to wow!
From here to there and from his home to his bar
Even when he slept and from then until now
They wanted to dance on his head, be the star
Of the words he would write.
They came in the guise of the muse,
As forgotten chapters from his past,
Attempted to entertain and amuse
And their repertoire was vast
But never sounded like the right insight.
He tried but never heard the wind sing
Nor was there an engrossing sheep chase
No Kafka on their shores as the king
And neither were they in a long-distance race
So he preferred to wait.
He lingered for years until the angels danced
On his head and then, without a break,
One to the other idea he pranced.
The writer in him was finally awake
To a word-infused worldly fate.
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Based on the prompt: When the angels danced on their heads (Santosh Bakaya)
#TSLNaPoWriMo poetry writing challenge for April 2021
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Arvind Passey
06 April 2021
