When I Wasn’t Writing Poetry.

Its like the highest summit of the Himalayas suddenly feeling disastrously pale and defeated; even infront of the most infinitesimally lackluster of squandering ants,

Its like those unlimited swarm of bumble bees suddenly feeling extremely bitter and remorseful; even in the heart of their hives—profusely inundated with nothing else but celestial honey,

Its like the flamboyantly brilliant Sun suddenly feeling as if pathetically squatting in limp darkness; even in the midst of the most tempestuously sweltering afternoon,

Its like the most towering of dinosaur suddenly feeling unable to gobble a minuscule leaf; even as several thousand of its teeth uncontrollably minced and roared to devour endless civilizations; just for morning breakfast,

Its like an infinite avalanches of the most frozen ice suddenly feeling like melting into nothingness; even as the chilliest winds of unsparing winter made mercury dip to several hundred degrees below trusted zero,

Its like the most robustly rollicking of body suddenly feeling like starving to an inconsolable death; even when sumptuously fed every hour with the best fruits and ingredients of nature divine,

Its like the most holistically inimitable brain suddenly feeling like heading towards inexplicable dementia; even when effortlessly solving the most pragmatic problems of mathematics at unbelievable speeds,

Its like the most amazingly fecund patches of timelessly proliferating earth suddenly feeling infertile; even infront of the disgracefully impotent wails of the vindictive eunuch,

Its like the stringently unstoppable needles of the clock suddenly feeling like stagnating in the mortuaries of solitariness; even as time inexhaustibly ticked forward to unveil into a revolutionary new tomorrow,

Its like the most gorgeously burgeoning of rose suddenly feeling asphyxiated from all quarters with worthless stink; even when people from all quarters of the globe were inevitably drawn solely to its invincible scent,

Its like the eternally rising sea wave suddenly feeling like the most listlessly pulverized weed; even infront of the fetid pile of slush incongruously blabbering near the
lifeless gutter,

Its like the exuberantly twinkling star suddenly feeling that blackness was the sole ruler of the sadistic night; even though it filtered the most optimistic path of hope to survive in the darkness; savagely menacing around,

Its like the very first showers of ecstatically torrential rain suddenly feeling lividly desolate; even infront of the most worthlessly cringing and miserably abandoned desert sands,

Its like ebullient blood gushing through the veins suddenly feeling as if it belonged to someplace else; even as it indefatigably pumped the heart with unconquerable exhilaration,

Its like the majestic spider perched in the center of its web suddenly feeling decimated by a boundless feet on ground; even though the strands of silk absorbed it more compassionately and profound; into its own perseveringly crafted castle,

Its like the most wondrously efficacious panacea on this planet suddenly feeling that it was abhorrent venom; even though it marvelously and untiringly continued on its miraculous healing spree,

Its like the strongest foundation on soil suddenly feeling it’d worthlessly buried a countless feet under dead soil; even though it hadn’t moved a whisker; in the most treacherously vengeful earthquake of the decade,

Its like the most immortal of heartbeat suddenly feeling blasphemously betrayed; even though the sky of perpetual love continued to harness and replenish the most inconspicuous of its desires,

And I can assure you, it was indeed much worse than all of the above; a feeling too unthinkably cursed to describe to even the goriest of devils out there; when though I had the entire wealth of the world—but unfortunately wasn’t writing poetry.


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