Where in my soul is the source?
Where does this verse arise?
Where within is that glossary?
Expounding these strings of words?
A thought congeals, and in a flash,
A sequence of ordered lines,
Align in subtle passages,
Precisely defined!

The gravid mind, certainly is,
The source of this sorcery,
Delving into unfathomable wells,
More arcane than annals of time!
Perspective differs in exploring,
Sentiments, observations, such,
Experienced likewise by everyone,
To me apparently different!

When writing all of me is,
In a reservoir immersed,
Body, spirit and the mind,
Pursuing a thrilling desire!
Where smallest crystal of a word,
On minute scrutiny,
Can meticulously be crafted to,
The lilting or taciturn!

Poetry is my child of instinct,
Borne on this emblazoned mind,
Else randomness can't be tamed,
To instant meter and rhyme!
Every infant exhibits,
Preference in choosing toys,
Words must've been the favourites,
To my infant souls' delight!
Unwilling to part, with these treasures,
Brought them along to the now,
To share my style of turn of phrase,
With simple reeds revived!

This awareness shall someday depart,
To where ever it needs return,
This lexis within shall help begin,
Much more, in those other worlds

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