Stillborn

As I closed my door and lay down to sleep A poem came and violently knocked at my door Being quite late, I put a rein on my desire to admit it in Even in my sleep I could hear the faint sound of a knock In the wee hours of the morn, as I sat up to house it Only scattered phrases and broken lines floated around A crazy excitement made me trap them in ink But nothing worthwhile showed up on the writing pad I found I had only violated the virginity of the paper After hours of spasmodic labour pain What came out was a stillborn with no heart beats It lay limp before me and all excitement died down It’s still body, I found had closely resembled me Something of me was there stamped on it How could I who had parented it Callously discard it in a dustbin? So I carefully stashed it away in a secret place Where no one’s prying eyes would ever fall over it!