The Birth Of A Poem

Tingled senses, twirling thoughts

From somewhere far unseen unknown

Condensed as inky rain clouds they soak,

The meadows of mind, forest of soul

When an argent silage lingers in sky

Of frosty nights, of rimy moon

Myriad scenes bloom like silver feathers,

A verse tiptoes inside the room

A mynah trill on my windowsill 

In tidings of autumn and snow

In season's arcane language I discern,

The strains and songs Nature bestow

And spill those words in script of love

For dew kissed night flowers to read

A verse trembles on my pale lips,

And I get the vision of poetry