Writer’s block
I gaze at a white paper
and the paper gazes back at me
we’ve been at it for some time now
the paper and I.
I’ve done so much gazing
my pupils are turning white
if that was a gazing contest
I’d surely win the first prize.
I have a story in me
that needs telling
but only the wrong words
materialize.
I’ve tried all the tricks in the book
but what I get back
is crumpled pages
empty coffee cups
an astray filled
with cigarette butts
sighs
grimaces
ass aches
backaches
yawns
dizzy spells
a seven-day stubble and
silence.
but I take that as a good sign
silence is good, right?
among the literary circles
this silence
is labeled as writer’s block
that’s right
they call it writer’s block.
but I prefer the words
challenge
play
hide-and-seek.
I don’t go worrying about
blocks, bars, bricks, and the lot.
instead, I go on gazing
go on challenging
go on playing
smoother
softer
slicker.
and so, I keep on toying with that silence
over and over
until the juice starts to flow again.
until then
good night and goodbye.