The Muse and the Words....



I wonder if it is the muse, that she must submerse in,
Or the words that are born, must she bathe in?

 The essence of her phrases, rests in the rising morrows,
they fall with the winter dew drops, and in the tears of her sorrows,

 She wakes up every morning, to the scent of his fragrant breaths,
He who stirs the poetess in her, and is all her verses' meth,

 She adores his very being, which instills poetry in her existence,
Upholding her from the material subsistence to a spiritual continuance........

 (c) S.S

Comments

Arthur Turfa said…
Excellent verse, Shilpa! You set a very relaxing tone here!
12 November 2019 at 04:16
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