When I drop my pen, my mind bursts to life
And glows with all the colours in the spectrum of light
"How about that time you walked down to the river
And saw a lonely fingerling treading the water
Those immaculate flowers that grew by the bank
Amidst all the green of the waterside plants
Write something on how brownish the mud was at first
Before it merged with white sand and washed off itself
Remember the children who swam in the deep
And taunted the ones who kept to the beach"
But as soon as I pick up my pen to begin
My mind closes on me and I'm as blank as my sheet.