One Last Try

Words forming a gulp to gather at the corner of my throat,

Tingling constantly,

They demand to jump out and set themselves free, 

But I can’t. 

I feel alphabets dancing like mad mice at the centre of my belly,

Wanting to create more words and meet that gulp, 

But I can’t.

I can’t take a step forward and let my feet take me towards the roads I desired. 

I can’t make the clock walk a little slow so that I could walk faster. 

A mountain of possibilities lying right in front of me yet I can’t pace towards it. 

A thousand empty pages lying naked, yet to be filled and dressed up with beads of alphabets and laces of words decorated all over. 

I look around. 

I look around to find nothing but nothingness. 

Poems reside right on the beak of my fingers and I can’t convince my pen to stop being stubborn and dance on my pages for once. 

Letter after letter,

Word by word,

I fight with the ink and force it to lose to my submission and drop dead on the empty grounds. 

Verse by verse 

I finally try building a poem and giving it a last try. 

One Last Try! 

One last try to mend all the broken lines into one concrete poem,

And allow them all to heal. 

One last try to let all the words bleed out of my veins and permit them to scream. 

One last try to walk out of this phase and for once write my own tale,

To throw some light on the alphabets pale,

One last try, 

Because a poem deserves it,

One last try,

Because solitude serves it. 

Because possibilities demand it all,

Because a perfect story, just awaits one call,

Because poems do not happen by themselves,

And empty pages never beautify the shelves, 

One last try for this earnest desire, 

And one last try for this ever evoking fire. 

One last try for the verses I adore,

And one last try 

For the muse I write for.

-StringentBard (Hafsah Faquih)