The Death Of Ideas

My laments on the states of 'poemlessness' or 'writers block' have become sort of cliche as I still crave for a smooth flow of ideas to my mind onto the pen and paper. Every now and then I try to break those shackles but the results seem way below my satisfaction. The poem below is another of my desperate efforts with the same result, I fear. Whats different though, is the amalgamation of a Chinese proverb in the poem, that says 'Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come'. My usage of the idea might not seem appropriate but what else is? So I'll keep my fingers crossed for better things to come.


In a desperate state
I laid the brain-trap
to catch any of the
ideas flapping
around my thoughts
fanning my longing,
evading my lap.

A poem-bird
came perching
to pick a speck of the
scattered grain
ignorant of the snare,
was entangled;
it writhed and bled

before falling dead
adding to the carcasses
of a few more
lying on the cold floor
of my mind.

Had I grown in my heart
a green tree of wisdom
I would be a happy abode
for the singing birds
of creativity
rather than a graveyard
of broken muses
that I am.