Inspirations

When God created people,
He made two slots,
One for the non thinkers,
Other for the thinking lots,

Once done with sculpting the former,
He was baffled to look at the sophists!
As among them stood, two kinds,
One with sensitive hearts,
and the other, with ignorant minds,

And so, Poets were born,
Many of each kind.

A bit puzzled, the God asked,

"Poets are Poets,
sensitive or not,
what difference does it make?
They've beloveds as their muses,
what else must they need?"

From behind a huge willow tree,
A tiny form appeared,
bowing in front of the Almighty,
all the ambiguity, she cleared,

"My Lord, 
I am that sensitive over-thinker, as you say,
Even a dry petal can amuse me to stay,
May be, I espy not the joys from afar,
but I do fathom sorrows of the stars,
and then, my pen dwindles breathlessly,
sprawling the letters endlessly,
It is my inspiration,
That cloud, which forgot a downpour,
Or that country lass, who sang a folk lore,
that distant lad, who speaks of pain,
and that war hit kid, lying bloodbathed and lame,
Inspirations, My Almighty,
Need no reasons,
no beloveds,
no reflections,
no seasons,
My inspirations, are governed by my soul,
Winds tame me, and nights inspirit me,
I write, where my pneuma meanders,
some are displeased, some comforted,
By mere words,
But that's all they are,
M e r e 
W o r d s.........."

(c) S.S