A Matter of Creativity

Capital letter … Right now, please note: it is time to dust, not write. Dust was eating away this besieged body; Amassing with all the misery that delights in ambush. It crept into secret crevices, Quietly dulling senses, as it blended in; Softly choking, mimicking flu, Before weaving a blanket so thick It embraced and insulated; Gently burying body under the weight of An elephantine duvet with speaking tongues. Write now, right now that house pride has succumbed to ash As caked and empty cans and bottles decorate. The dustman hurried by the empty drum For rubbish barricaded the front door. The inconvenience: to eat, drink, shop, to pay bills Without leaving one’s desk these days. Friends and adversaries seep out of pens, Alphabetically springing to colourful life. Who dares miss a thought so precious, so elusive – Might never occur again. So grasp it, rack it; right, left lobe battle dire emotions and reason. Let dust prevent thoughts from leaving from whence it came. Incarcerate all grey matters. Now one can write how it feels to have dust as qwerty companion. Then fling open the door, Let light and the world in. Shout: “I write because I can.” Full stop … Exclamation mark! End. (PS: begin again.)