(In which I need not say more, do I?)
It’s easier to write poems when you’re sad
one quiet late night.
The streets are lightless and lifeless
save for the full moon
trying to illuminate the blackness
with the yellowness of gray.
It’s easier to write poems with a heavy heart,
when happiness is nowhere near
and you sit next to despair.
It’s easier to write poems when you hear the slightest noise
for around and within you there is silence.
Words flow freely
and thoughts wander aimlessly till they go back
to the root of their bitterness.
It’s easier to write poems when you think
not of sunny days but of windy nights,
not of the sunrise but of midnight
when nocturnal huddle over sodas
and a conversation with a stranger.
It’s easier to write poems when you’re sad.
The pen seems lighter and the images endless.
It’s even easier to write poems when you cry,
when your trembling moves the pen
and your tears magnify the words.
February 20, 2011