A Challenge

April 2, 2020 by Usha Pisharody 5 Comments

April’s nobody’s fool

Least of all, mine

For that is when

The bug hovers, as if to bite

And bite it does, it did,

Seemingly aeons past

Or so it feels, this moment.

So, I let that warm memory

Thaw them words, frozen

In that block,

Let it pool itself

And form what it will…

Verse, or worse

No matter what

This time, they shall

Not be stemmed

But shall grow on

Blossom how it will

And I shall let what

Fragrance will,

Waft from this

Rambler’s tapestry.

April, I shall suffer fools gladly

If only you would play me!

 

02 April, 2020 (Day 1 of #NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month, observed in some places 🙂 )