Trapped Inside Words

My poetry is the blood

Sucking leech

Draining the life

Out of me

My poetry is the blue sky

Caged behind a limit

I could neither mend

Nor extend

Every time I think of

Kissing the sun

The moon swallows my feet,

Dragging me back

I throw my head

Upon her lap

While the stars all

Dance around

My poetry is my cage

My poetry is my rage.




  1. Anzar Khan says:

    Also is there a way to talk to you? Cause I want to clear some things out. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Nameera says:

      Okay. Tell me everything here : and I’ll respond if I’ve something to say.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. That’s such a lovely piece of work!
    It’s great to see someone so passionate about their art!😃

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Nameera says:

      Thank you so much!!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. My pleasure!😊

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Boris says:

    An interesting and powerful poem that explores the tense and fraught relationship that exists between the creator and their creations.

    Again there’s an interesting parallel between our creative works, as I’ve also written a poem that uses a similar metaphor to the metaphor you use in the first stanza. Please let me quote from it:

    No birth pangs
    their creation;
    fully formed
    they spring forth
    with such hale vigour
    and confidence
    that I become
    but an adjunct,
    a pale copy
    of their existence,
    as if they are
    the begetter
    and I am but a helpless infant
    devoid of all knowledge,
    sapped of all

    Born with
    no blood
    nor nature’s yolk,
    they feast
    on the nearest flesh,
    consuming voraciously
    that of which they came,
    like hideous grubs
    their creator
    from inside.


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