The gates to my mind’s runway,
Clearly latched, no escape way,
Shut on all that can fly away.
Thoughts and words, in array,
Ripe and set to fly, all that way,
Crash-land sans going faraway.
Sitting with pen, paper that day,
Blank and blank for hours, I say,
Banging my head, doing all I may.
Trying…to string words, that weigh,
Making them make sense, they may,
Making them rhyme, in some way.
Knowing each day, not a bright day.
I’ll keep finding that little ray,
Making all my lost words play…
©Aashi D Parekh.