The Poem That Fails Me

This poem too is going to fail me Though I think every time, before I go to sit to write a poem That this poem will take me off and I will float on top like a chunk of cream But it never happens I gyrate and the water inside a poem gets muddy And the poem remains below the line Hidden under the surface As I could not use metaphor nor could I use expression That can hit the heart of modern men My style is boring, using the tone and texture of the age old Movement is lazy and that too is without rhythm Thoughts are childish and the themes are very poor Whatever stories are there those are not interwoven properly So the charms are lost I wander in a place like desert and Sink in a place like pond and feel out of air as if I do not know swimming I jump like a blind man and fall where there are no flowers but only thorns Like a lamb man I stagger And reach a place where I face only storms Like this poem this poetic life is going to be doomed Though each time I think This life of a poet would bring me peace and calm Instead of giving me soothing soul and cool heart This life eats my sleep, kills my rest Consequently blood pressure rises In the blood sugar level increases This poem and this poetic life fail me again and again