Again I struggle with ink today.
At the paper blank, I blink today.

With the streak at stake, about to break,
I find myself at the brink today.

The street’s so quiet, muse on diet,
I am on my own, I think, today.

In form I trust, for write I must:
Some ghazal couplets I link today.

These muddy lines, like spilled over wines,
To my shamelessness, I drink today.

Do you hear the scare? “Misra, beware!
Your words are going to stink today.”

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