Where Do Poets Go When Their Muse Leaves Them

"A poet and his muse both will die one day which one dies first is a matter of luck" Inspired by : "When we stop breathing poetry, our crestfallen pen, left in silence - where do we poets go?" - Silent one ******************* What happens to a poet once his mind is no longer able to conjure up poetry? Does he die like a green leaf plucked before time thrown on the ground a living dead before death Or does he still smile like spring flowers dancing in joy of soft caress of breeze Is he struck in a maze of negative thoughts unable to come out Or does he still hold firmly to faith and hope Does he fall into a dark pit all alone waiting for death Or does he still radiate beauty and wisdom although non poetic Does he make desperate attempts to bring back his muse Or does he laugh loud knowing fully well that everything is always in transition Does he look around desperate for a comment or adulation Or does he relax like a tree strong and calm unruffled by the winds When he sees others creating masterpieces and getting praised for it... Does he feel lonely and left alone, as if everything has come to an end Or does he join others with his lavish comments on a beautiful poem well composed How does a poet take it? Much depends on poet's mental make and lifestyle A poet whose life revolves around poetry Who has no other hobbies and passions When his ink dries up, doesn't know what to do He tries his best get it back, but that is not in his hands What God gives he can take back whenever he wants Some poets are egoistic, riding the heights of success When suddenly their ink fails they cannot take it They miss comments and adulation and can even go into depression Higher you are, greater is your fall Best to be humble, not to think you are greatest Like everything else poetry is transient We are in this mortal world for short time Enjoy writing while it lasts when it doesn't enjoy life There should be a life beyond poetry to bounce back when muse dies When you are forgotten like a read book adorning the bookshelf That's the time to live for yourself, rediscover new joys and passions That's the time to tell the world a poet lives till his last breath And inspires thereafter through his thoughts which are more read once a person dies then when he was alive Poetry should be a passions not an addiction Date: 11/27/2020 3:23:00 AM