The Carcass of My Imagination
I’ll tell you the story of how my imagination was shot By none but me and why I crafted that disturbing plot. I had to free my imagination when in the clutches of clichés it was caught What else could I do when unruly words too went on their own trot? For long I tried but colourless words were all I ever wrote Words that were always far less too eloquent than what I’d have thought Over the blank page once again I saw them menacingly gloat Before parting with my imagination and leaving it to rot. So I slew it and then the carcass of my imagination, I watched it float On the white expanse like a capsized boat Near to it lay undead yet lifeless like a big blot Of blood, words, nay- remnants of a lost battle I once fought. Trickled from the carcass of my imagination like blood that wouldn’t clot Few absurd words and to bury the carcass, my pen I mournfully sought And a eulogy I searched in the depths of my ink pot Rest in peace, I wrote. The saddest cl