Writer's Block Some words just strolled in unannounced, But most hid in the wings, afraid of forgetting their definitions, And so they simply waited there, till the end of the play, when the curtain rose and the audience leaved, the mist cleared and the lights dimmed. You closed your eyes and so went another long dark night. Then came day, a new play, a new stage. Audiences milled in, expectant and fresh. They had seen the posters: The hottest words, the grande dames, the rising starlets. The exotic "Zeitgeist" jostled with the classic "time" The newbie " ear worm" fawning over " resonance ", the old timer. Enough of those shameless ones, again we saw a quieter group, anxious, reciting their definitions,Unceased, till the director interrupted, and they broke into nervous shambles. Again the lights shone and the play had begun, in the heat of excitement, " follicles" forgot his definition, " mollified" tore her hair in frustration, and "rumba" tripped over his own feet. "Tipsy" ran on stage to announce technical failure. "Poesy" cried over her ruined ringlets. And the director called it quits. Within the wings stirred some clandestine smileys, Some wondrous upheavals of relief, Or some blessed sighs. Sometimes it is safer to remained concealed in the wings which none could see, Then be exposed and stark under the harsh spotlights, That never forgot a mistake no matter big or small, A transposed alphabet, a switch of periods, a wrong accent or the sudden "s"' In the deep recesses of my presumptuous writer's mind, Perhaps some words were never meant to be, Some words were to be left undisturbed or urged, Some words censored, others blocked. And suddenly a writer's block seemed a trivial matter indeed, We seek truce with words, We find not enemies, Neither are we friends, We simply need each other- A writer and her words.

Visiting The Kiwis My mother visit her kiwi everyday, Her fingers reaching out to where her kiwi lay. Like rough moss on smooth pebble, Her kiwi shone like gold amidst the rubble. My mother cupped the kiwi in her hand, Like a baby her kiwi sleep in lalaland. Tenderly she pressed her kiwi for it to awake, So she can know if it has mature of late. Day after day she repeat her ritual, Till her kiwi has ripened into a fine specimen actual, With luscious flesh and weathered brown skin, Sweet to the core and loyal like a kin.

The Blank Page The blank page taunts me, dares me to write something bad. Here is my reply ( Blank )

Symbols Many a times in my infinite dreams, Symbols appear in neat black rows. They crept in, stern and grim As if they were heralds of important news I shut the door in their faces, For they are rude, arriving unannounced. I abhor them for their lack of graces, And their smug grins slipped and slithered... ...Off to the ground, where I trammel them to their untimely deaths.

The Cat Who Ate My Biscuit The cat raises his paw. I can see the yearning in its emerald green eyes. But my biscuit is rubber. It is a fake artificial lump of rubber. He will choke to death if he feast on it. Gingerly, I place the biscuit on the floor and warn the cat to back off. The cat listens, not to my benign warning, but to his grovelling stomach. He pounces. With a determined hiss and almighty leap, he secures the biscuit with his gleaming white teeth. I watch him streak off to the distance with his prize, triumphantly. It is my first and last encounter with such a greedy, but also such an adorable cat. I wonder at his moment of epiphany, when he realises that his biscuit is in fact not a biscuit, will he feel betrayed? Will he lost his faith with the whole of humanity because of a single human who offer him a fake biscuit and will he ever feel the same way about biscuits ever again because of a single biscuit who is fake? Will he eat the biscuit despite knowing it is fake because of his pride that springs from his small feline heart? Will he develop constipation from the biscuit that simply will not melt or toothache from the biscuit that he could not gnaw? I wish him well. I do hope that he finds a true biscuit next time.