Franklin D. Lewis, in his magnanimous work -- 'Rumi -- Past and Present, East and West' -- on the life and teachings of Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi, writes:

"Rumi himself says that when he first began to compose poetry, he felt himself impelled by some great purpose (d?'ie'i bud 'azim ke mowjib-e goftan.)"

This line prompted Us to ask our budding poets as to what is it that makes them write? What is their 'mowjib-e goftan' -- their motivation, their purpose and reason for composing verse?

We give you two weeks to send in your entries and request you to limit yourself to 100-150 words. So think about it and do write to Us. Looking forward to reading some really interesting views on the subject…

--N.A.

Scraping at the inside's walls,

Words, mere words, left unsaid,

Claw me down, a battle left unfought,

A civil strife struck within,

Dreams of the wild tamed down by life,

A spark smoulders on,

An energy remains unconsumed,

Consuming me,

Dreams…the fireworks,

When forbidden to burn, set everything ablaze

Slow poisoned by dreams unfulfilled,

Rotting aspirations eat my being away,

Scrape, scrape!

Small hands, childlike, of misery,

Consistent at work,

Stung is my soul by melancholy,

I dance beneath the icy sky

Burnt stars, my dreams, shower their ashes on me…

'n' I celebrate the setting cold upon the sun of my days,

I rejoice being consumed!

Like a new leaf

Sprouting on a tree

A new life

Came into being

Naivety, the trademark

Of its infancy

The way spring helps

All creatures to grow

And develop

Its surroundings

Assisted it

Serving as catalysts

Driving it further

As it grew

It listened, learned

And gathered

Taking in its environment

Like a leaf takes in air

Then came the summer

Of its life

And the world saw it

Intense and fiery

Eager to experience

And to observe

Basking in the warmth

Of its youth

Like a leaf basks

In the sun

Following a passionate summer

Was a stagnant autumn

Filled with responsibilities

And hard work

Crafting a better life

For itself

And its extensions

Slowly

And steadily -

Life was being drained

Like the colour

Of an autumn leaf

It was fading

Giving away

And then finally came

The freezing winter

And frozen everything

Was, with it

Desires, capabilities

And even its wit

It had seen it all -

All seasons

The rises

And the falls

Now it was time

For it

To depart

To die

In the end

Like a winter leaf

Wrinkled and weak

Discarded it was

Discarded by the tree

The silence of the night,

Is broken,

By the sound of rain,

The drops hitting against the roof,

They splash the windows,

And in the eerie silence,

Create a melody,

A rhythm,

The beat of a continuous hymn,

They create the symphony of life.

It slows down,

And picks up again,

Like the strings of a guitar,

Being plucked in a beat,

They give music to the ears,

A sound so beautiful,

So captivating,

It keeps me awake,

But the magic is such,

That as the music grows,

And with the changing tunes,

It lulls me to sleep.

I'm standing with my cross,

Waiting for my last lifeless dawn,

My life's in between earth and sky,

It seems it's there forever,

With all its might the eternal cross,

But weaker it gets with time;

Time that waits for no one,

Not a young spring's bloom,

Not a withering autumn leaf,

Not the dancing moon in water,

Not the nature in its grief.

Weaker my life, stronger the cross,

Holding it on my hunched back,

I stare above at my last moon,

Below, at the earthly essence of my being.

When strings are pulled shaking

The sky that ends my night and noon.

My life's not there hanging anymore

Between the never-ending horizons.

I stare at my last moon with

Eyes that are made of gems,

As lifeless as the engraved names

On the unmarked graves of life;

I lie with the cross on my grave

And wait for the moon's dance to end!

Her messy beehive hair,

The revealing chiffon gown,

The few extra pounds

And the sagging eye bags

Were all masked,

By her only saving grace,

The eye candy in her arms,

This season's must have accessory,

The hot Hollywood hunk…