The reluctant writer

Sat on the metro today,

It’s a long ride up north

To my students and their lives

Someone peered over my shoulder and cooed

“Oh you write poems!

Are you a poet?”

I slammed my notebook shut,

Tightly

And with a stiff nod

Said, “No”

Decidedly trying not to continue the conversation further.

X------------------X--------------------X

Another reluctant moment

I sat

And my thoughts reeled above my head.

Letters forming words

Words forming voice

Voice slowly nudging me

To pen them down;

On a forlorn empty

Piece of paper.

But,

I stopped myself

How could they form sentences?

How could they form daunting

Prose-pieces

Or eloquent poetry

Long, extended

Like an extension of my mind itself.

Thread of my thoughts,

Intimate to me

In pen and paper,

How intimidating.

What if I were compared

To others;

To parents,

Scrutinized.

“Hmmm, you know what,

I think I would change the sentence there?”

“Is this what you mean here?”

“There is a grammatical error there.

Eloquant is spelled ‘eloquent’ and it means

Fluent and effective use of language.”

My throats start to constrict,

The roof of my tongue dries

I feel exposed, too exposed

Like my bones itself jutted out.

No more, no more

I am not deserving