A Musing

She touched him, whispered wild
words at the right bell of time
when art of revolution
could evolve and survive
for years to come, a classical puzzling dome

He said: " When will I be at my peak?"
She lied: " When I do my work on you"
He realized he had words to win and wed
instead of whiling time away

Just when he thought she was no more than a muse
and it was all a clever ruse of providence
a moment of chaos ensued
the room that they were in started to shake
things fell apart, the old crashed and died
and the earth cracked

Possessed by an insane urge, he started art to see,
sense and inspire fate to turn.


The Muse walked into the pit of creation
she had laid birth to and wasn't
surprised to find the novelty that was around
woven intricate she had lent

And she thought: "This is just the beginning, I am craving to get inside your head
and plunge my hand to unravel the rare breed."