If the spell is broken,
there remains no genuine life;
Machines and robots rule in rife;
No hands to reach the sky,
No moon in a forest night,
No fear or hope or similar emotions to cite;
The sea will not be the poet’s bed;
The sun is not the light the writers get;
No congratulations on being mad,
No literary asylum for being glad,
No description of colors in the rainbow to read,
No ebbs and tides for the mind to feed,
No reflection of ocean at dusk on any page
No ghost around to be visited as a sage,
No listening to your soul, no beauty involved,
No journey inside, no feeling absolved
No poetry to read, catharsis dissolved!
Courtesy of Google pictures
Foroz, M. (2017). Inside Out: A Collection of English Poems. Olympia Publishers: London.
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Very interesting and important point you make in this poem, Martin. We think when reading this poem, perhaps, 'the spell' exists for a reason. And we absolutely love these verses and metaphors so much, "The sea will not be the poet’s bed," "No reflection of ocean at dusk on any page,"No ghost around to be visited as a sage,"No moon in a forest night!" Thank you so much for sharing your words with us, we always enjoy indulging in your creativity.