SUNRISE

You give me a prompt

to excite the lost writer in me

to bring out the words, the lyrical melodies.

Yet, I feel clinched by an evil power

that subdues my talent, my endowment, my art.

I want to break-free

be the fearless knight, whose power resides in pen as his arm

render delightful shape to the words that were once my grace.

To look at the sunrise in the east

and pen down a poetry

basked in the pleasures of the first light of the day

bathing the world in new hope, zeal and vigor to play our games,

be the best in our trades.

I yearn to go back to the days

when a writer in me could even create from haze

that moistens the window after a long cold night

engulfed in fog, dazed.

I long to view the words flow like river

Cascading into a large pool full of wonders.

Will it ever be the same?

Will I ever bathe in the warmth of dayspring, again?