A Muse need not always be
A flower, the moon, rain, or the sea
Muse blooms in moments, too
Like
When someone tells, you are loved
Sips the coffee you made, and
Thanks through eyes that smile
Holds hand, not while crossing gushing rivers
But
While you look at your reflection
in a stream, and gaze at the pebbles…
In moments when you smell petrichor,
and he/she unfriends the umbrella!
In moments
When you begin to write a poem
Your empty paper is looked at
With so much love and hope
That every drop of ink
Smells like poetry…

And
A poem’s blood drips from its soul
When a poet is left with no moments to bloom
Yet writes with love…

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