A Wish

I wish I were a poet,

Not like any other,

In the long list of wishes may be another addition,

My pen, like a key to a piano,

When touched in a spring noon,

Would break my monotony.

The languid humming of a cuckoo,

Would mellow in its sweet words.

The senses esoteric,

Would gain life in my words.

I do smile, when alone,

At my thoughts, at my naivety.

But I do have a right to dream;

They say poets are dreamers,

So am I a poet, or

Am I asleep.

The impotency of my ink does grasp my soul,

Do I hear my soul whimper?

The mundane thoughts, the dull desires,

The paralysed thoughts,

Are suitors to my incapacity

To sit quietly and still.

I wish I were a poet.