Writers block!

Sitting here in this room, with no other sound than the momentary crackling of my knuckles, the chewing of food or a deep sigh to break the deafening silence, I sail in the tempestuous sea of thoughts. I know I should write, I feel the urgency too. I have to put my bare thoughts to words before they form an allegiance and conspire against my peace of mind. I sit down with an empty sheet and a pen, I try to write, I gather myself to start with a word, but in vain. My senses go numb, it seems I have lost access to the secret chambers of my mind where all the words are stocked.
My Muse has abandoned me, leaving me with a mind full of thoughts, heart full of aches, a melange of feelings and emotions running a marathon in my cluttered head but bereft me of words to express.

I read the pieces which I once wrote when I was blessed, an insatiable imagination always hungry for more, a rich play with words, but now a thick black curse mantles around me while I lie devoid of expression.
In this state of nauseating stupor, I stare at the vurgin sheet which mocks at my futile attempts of procreation.

The channel, through which, once, words sneaked in, in the dead of night has been blocked, the door shut and bolted from the other side. I try hard to gain access trying numerous ways to undo the curse but all I’m left with is a void. A void which sucks me into it and I watch myself by and by sinking with time.

I long for summer, the bounteous Sun spreading it’s golden hues in the naked sheet while I bathe in the spring of metaphors. Wasted by the smell of Hyacinths and Gardenias, scattered in the air, my somnambulance leads me to the world of poetry where the rhythmic chirruping of metrical wings lull my senses.
But now, the clouds of anxiety has replaced the Sun, the rain of grief and restlessness lashes my bare body and the morbid sound of unnerving humdrum palpitates my heart.

Will the sun ever shine on me again, will the tides of creativity wash my muddy mind or will I die here, one day at a time fading into oblivion?

31 thoughts on “Writers block!

  1. Yes: I constantly fight against a tendency to catastrophise during barren times.
    After each poem, especially if the gap widens from weeks into months, one can feel: “perhaps that will be the last”.😧
    (Though, at my age, it’s also more likely to be true!😄)

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Trouble with age is that time seems to speed up.😟

        Actually, Upashna, I should be thanking YOU: for the pleasure your work has given me.

        (PS: expect you saw my message, via the contact form a while back?)


      2. Oh, it was only mentioning I’d listed you as a Poetstar🌟 on my blog
        (in the post called “Better Days”) and linked to your site.
        (I try to always let people know when citing them, but didn’t hear back.
        Hoped it would OK, anyway.
        Now, talking with you, here, just reminded me of that.)


  2. An incredibly detailed and poetic description of a problem many writers face. I find that stream-of-thought journalling helps alleviate it. Best wishes you find your Muse again soon.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Yes the urge to write and still not able to is very depressing . but I am too trying to pen something on this , may be we will get the positivity to get back our lost strength.I hope you too come out of it. Actually I have been facing so from past one month I even dropped a post of giving up writing for sometime .


  3. If it makes you feel better, I just lost 35,000 words of stories. I found some f them on a flash drive, but they’re at different drafts. Somedays, I just don’t feel like writing. Don’t beat yourself up too much. Make a zen garden to relax.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Awh! That’s really heart wrenching. Such a loss, that was. The funny thing with me is that I don’t even collect myself to write. Somehow it scares me to just sit down and try to pen some words.
      Let’s hope this will pass too!


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