When thoughts suddenly play hooky
uttering incoherent sibilant whispers
they willingly withdraw into wilderness
called by a god, maybe!
you then become inured to vacuity
you believed thoughts were at your beck and call
writing was your well-deserved privilege
oh, what a shame!
solitary confinement does not help
nor does seeking inspiration from other’s work
the brain refuses to comply with orders
you risk teetering on the brink of going beserk
you strain yourself, work up a frenzy
however hard you may try to coax
thoughts are in no mood to comply
content to curl up in suspended animation
and you end up feeling like a hoax.