There seems to be nothing,
nothing these days to write,
nothing much to inspire me,
no darkness and no light.

No muse,
to seduce this pen to bleed,
no monotonous screams,
or cries for me to heed.

I look to the skies,
to drown myself in lies,
and I look at the stars,
in search of new scars;

But they all seem the same,
stuck within a hive,
neither completely dead,
nor truly alive.

So I sit here in a daze,
and gaze into the abyss,
in search of inspiration,
one I dearly miss.

And these specks of dust,
that dance for no songs,
their wings but wisps of light,
raining from their shoulders.

I feel content with the universe;
As she is, so have I become;
Floating peacefully,
on waves of her nothingness.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar