Growing a thought
is much akin to growing potatoes
in your own garden.
You bury the seed deep
you water it
tears and smiles
and the inimitable sun,your soul
and then you wait
till the first shoot appears.
You are not sure of the crop
but you have put in sweat,time and a lot of love
so you sit waiting on your haunches
oscillating between sure and unsure.
Scared, you to think of the form,the pallor, the tone.
Does it speak, does it say what it ought to say
or does it betray, leading a thought astray?
Does it wrangle with the reader in mumbo- jumbo
making him give up weary of your artistry?
In the eternal scheme of things
you have your place, so does he, the reader!
(Dance as if no one is watching you,
Write as if no one is reading you! )