Growing a thought

is much akin to growing potatoes

in your own garden.

You bury the seed deep

very deep

you water it

tears and smiles

and the inimitable sun,your soul

and then you wait

till the first shoot appears.

You are not sure of the crop

but you have put in sweat,time and a lot of love

so you sit waiting on your haunches

oscillating between sure and unsure.

Scared, you to think of the form,the pallor, the tone.

Does it speak, does it say what it ought to say

or does it betray, leading a thought astray?

Does it wrangle with the reader in mumbo- jumbo

making him give up weary  of  your artistry?

In the eternal scheme of things

you have your place, so does he, the reader!

(Dance as if no one is watching you,

Write as if no one is reading you! )

Peace!