By: Balu George

The muse has deserted me.
It’s a struggle, to say the least,
To make the words soar, dip, straighten out.
Evoke pathos, anger, passion, contempt.
I will take anything.
The muse has danced her way out of my life.
I await her at dusk,
Late into the lonely nights,
Into the early morning hours.
I shower, I shave, clean out my closet,
Listen to classical music, throw plates,
Pull my hair, stare at the ceiling, Out of the window,
Into my soul (it is located right above my belly button).
But she is not here nor there.
I knew it, call it clairvoyance,
That she would go into hiding sooner or later,
Such are her ways.

The days and night pass by,
And I make my peace.
Loved ones have left me,
And I have gone on,
And so it shall be.
I have made my peace.
But wait,
There is a knock on the door.

I open the door,
And find at the door,
The cable guy.

###

Balu George is a Chartered accountant practicing in Bangalore. He has attended the Bangalore writer’s workshop.