I look at the poem

In the notebook I clutch,

Inscribed

Just

A few moments ago.

If it's supposed to be sanguine,

Why does it make me feel languid,

Like I'm tussling 

To get

Onto the shore?

So as I fall into the rabbit hole, 

I decide

I would look back to what I was

When I had been 

Skipping away,

And the air erupts

With lyrics I had written

In the beginning, 

In the middle,

Yesterday.

I read through

And in between 

All the lines scripted in a marshland;

The smell of wet earth

Calms my nerves.

On looking at the one

I wrote right now

My blood feels sore

From head to toe

As if inside I'm bursting fireworks.

Singeing my nostrils,

Now I can't get a whiff of

The comfort any longer

I just fall pretty

Down the vacancy

Of a time vortex

I'm not sure I'm in or out of,

But I know

It's definitely close by,

Continuously asking,

"Do you want to go back?

You seemed better then,

What you did

Made you content

More than anyone else.

But why is the feeling 

Slowly retreating?

Now it seems more like

You're crouched up drunk

In abandoned wine barrels."

I arrive with a thud

On a stack of hay.

I think of

What I want to do

Laying still for a good while.

Coming to the conclusion,

I comprehend,

That I was good back then

But I don't want to go back,

And simply let it stay archived.

Making new verses

Is what I really want to do

Even if I'm not able to

I'll pause for some time

And then try again tomorrow.

Even if it's hard to grow

A fruitful tree,

I'll wait and nurture songs

Into a new community

From all my feelings, lent and borrowed.