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.”