The Cabin Writer

Kidney beans, chickpeas and your novel companions: writing ingredients.
A fortnight of thought, alone with the mind your father nurtured and fed.
With a hand on your shoulder he said, “Brave the cold winters, its
crippling winds and icy persona, it won’t slow you down, boy!”
But that snow wiped your mind clean, cooled the engine
into a white, blank thought; a canvas you couldn’t grasp,
paper that rebelled every word. Nothing developed,
Words began and ended with a full stop for heat.
You wore the Tipitaka to you chest for strength,
food for thought. Your ink and ambition
frozen, your tongue dry and skin
raw, your humour collapsed.
You were never able
To finish a single
Prayer.
“Shantih – “

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “The Cabin Writer

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s