Little Poem

 

My procrastination ends here,

While the urge to write chokes my throat,

My hands get paralysed as in a trance,

I find excuses to write a little poem,

I make up a lonely man, a distressed woman,

a lovers’ quarrel, an unrequited love,

But they are reluctant to play the part,

Maybe i should give them a raise,

Or throw a party at midnight,

Maybe a few drinks might work,

Only if they don’t puke.

I can expect a little vandalism, 

Some damage to the property and a mini scandal,

Possibly out of rage.

But at the end when I bring my weapons,

Sometimes they get scared and back off,

Some may never come back,

Others find it funny and mock at me,

And opportunists, seeing my desperation,

Attacks me with manipulation.

And all these while,

my three panic attacks 

talk to me in a different language,

I try to write a little poem

With a racing heart and flowing eyes,

I write my little poem,

tortured and broken,

I end my little poem,

Like a mighty warrior, 

Who had a pyrrhic victory.