On a rainy July morning,
Katalania beckoned me,
As I swerved and turned
On the lonely highway

My tenth vodka vanished,
To the tunes of Morrison
Sputtering and stuttering next,
My car skidded to a halt

I walked out in the drizzle,
to seek a dry shelter
Gingerly I stepped through
the bushes and trees

In that dark corner,
like the thinking man himself,
Sat a man outside his hut,
Made of twigs and leaves

Ghost or not, I approached
the crouched figure,
tapped on his shoulder.
‘Yeoww’, screamed he

After our senses returned,
I saw a sad, bearded face.
‘What is the matter?’, I asked,
‘And what are you doing here?’

‘Five years ago, my teacher
asked me to write a poem,
neither inspired nor caused
by a muse who lives and breathes.

Not a single word I could
pen in these five years.
Till this unletting rain,
infused me with the poet’s blessing

But now I know,
this rain was a mirage, an omen,
That only brought you here,
To be my cursed muse’


3 thoughts on “Wanderer

  1. Wow, liked the natural flow in the poem – but if there is a hidden metaphor, I missed it. And what is Katalania ? This is definitely better than any of your previous poems !

  2. Thanks Shamit :) No hidden metaphors… just musing about the importance of muses in inspiring poems!

    And Katalania is a made-up name of a place !! It just came to my mind

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