Drained

Dry has become the well of ideas

Under the scorching heat of pressure

The thoughts disappearing

As soon as crossing the mind

Flying away like stray birds

Unable to find the comfort of their nest

Why does the muse hide from me?

Why do the words feel hollow?

Why does the world seem dim?

Why have the colors faded?

Why is the path unclear?

And the stars are hidden

Where do I turn for inspiration?

What do I look for?

Who should I ask?

I gaze at my reflection in the window

Watching the rain slip down the glass

Foggy like my drained mind

And my painful eyes

The coldness outside as bleak

As the darkness inside

And I watch another day trickle by

Gone and wasted

As the candle goes out

And the light extinguishes inside

***

Thank you for reading!

Bahora Saitova