The muse of poetry

I try to fly , but each time I get stuck
Not in the leg nor in the hand
But in the head, somewhere at the back
But I know oh! Yes I know
That I must disentangle and transcend
I must break off this shackles.
I must fly

Oh! Mother muse
The mother of all creativity
Lend me thy soaring wings let me fly
To the mountains, to the sky and the flowing spring

Let my heart speak to and hear the language of mother earth
Let me realise that what the air wispers is life
Let me embrace and contemplate the unspeaking
Sky in the silent nights
Tell me mother muse what's in that solitary mind?
Let me fly

Let me drink let me swim
And discover the mystery in the clear spring
Let its purity purify me
Let it flow and flush away by its mild yet powerful
Flow this shackles
That is not in my hand nor heart but in my head

Lend me thy wings oh! Mother muse
Let me surpass , let me fly

Reviews

[ANTO]

The wish of the writer and the poet (same??) - to access those words that allow the flight of the spirit and the soul - if Mother muse is feeling kindly ...
I like the alliteration in the lines -
"Let its purity purify me
Let it flow and flush away..." - adds an extra spice to this one.
A super plea to 'SHE' who provides