Baseerah:
Let us try to revive my dead muse.
Perhaps, your company would be the breath of life she is yearning for.
Perhaps, your presence would conjure enough nectars to attract her butterflies,
And maybe, just maybe, the butterflies would have beautiful colours that could be transcribed into ink and set free to roam the earth and touch hearts.
Sherif Abdul:
Like an old lion thriving amid sheep,
It is difficult to match your pen even in the absence of this
Thing you call muse.
Not my company it turns out your pen all along has been the muse, or we can say it flows on no muse, breathing life and painting beautiful colours with words.
Amusing right?
Baseerah:
Amusing, Yes. Still, I am yet to be amused.
For, this lack of ink has soiled most of my days
But now, It flows freely. What a hypocritical muse🤦🏽♀️
For weeks, she disappeared and kept me confused
But in your presence, she keeps flowing like booze.
Sherif Abdul:
Don't peg this on me love, for She, I mean your muse will flow even if she was high on booze,
For who is a bride without a groom, dusk without the gloom, and a muse without the poet to fuse life and beauty into words?
She might snooze but not seize, she might pour and not flood,
But she will always be with you for just like life she is you.
Baseerah:
But really, I think this is more than just booze.
Aye, she might be me or with me but it's obvious that you and she are fused.
For, the scent of your company alone has diluted the blues,
and now the breeze is playing different notes.
Such sweet music, even the roses behind my windows are moved.
Sherif Abdul:
Do you tell the garden leaves that the leaves fall dancing to my tune?
Or do you tell the sumptuous wine, that the pot, not the grape made it fine?
Don't get startled, this is not to get you confused
But to tell you that the scent, breeze and tunes are all fused in you.
You are all that and more.
And I am nothing to the muse only a vessel she pours forth to fill.
©ceerah
C