How I write

In the confines of my room I sit
Glow of the lamp permeating the darkness
Pen in hand,
blank page in front.

From outside come the screams
A frenzied crescendo
High pitched voices
Clutter of footfalls
Seemingly never ending breach.

Within all is quiet
The picture of mother and child stare at me
Lord Krishna with Radha
plays his basuri.

On my table lie the leftovers,
few pages of ill constructed notes
on Mazzini and Garibaldi.

The almirah,bookshelf cast alien shadows
Whitewashed ceiling stares at me
Clothes crumpled lie here and there
the spider on her silvery web
casts furtive glances at me.

Amidst all this I sit,
asphyxiated mind,
the python of torpidity
slowly curls and chokes
without a sound.

Pen in hand
blank page in front
I sit
to write
the faint distant
songs in my mind.