She’s exactly the same age as me, though seems a little older
In height, her chin would be about the level of my shoulder
She is slightly overweight, but no more than she deserves
It just serves to accentuate her ample bumps and curves
In stature, she is upright, in the way that just improves
Her overall appearance and the way her body moves
That, of course, is how I see her, and the image that I use
For I make a point of not looking directly at The Muse
She has abundant flame red hair, with just a hint of grey
And she rarely ties it up unless it’s really in the way
She wears a little make-up, to enhance not to disguise
The laugh-lines at the corners of her ever-twinkling eyes
Her lips are full and tender with a smile pure and kind
And she keeps them RED – the way the maker must have had in mind
The type of clothes that ‘swish’ are the type she tends to choose
And she ‘swishes’ when she comes, and also when she goes – The Muse
She drinks a little too much but she hardly ever smokes
And while she’s always playful, she hardly ever jokes
I have learnt to pay attention every single time she speaks
For she may disclose a whole lot and then disappear for weeks
She can disappear for years if she is not understood
And her absence, like her presence, can be both bad and good
She can nag at me incessantly, or just leave cryptic clues
And I do not know a magic that will conjure up The Muse
As a younger man I chased her – and so she would hide for ages
While my pages filled with empty words (or stayed as empty pages)
I would call out for her daily and would spends my nights bereft
While I pushed around the ideas and the thoughts that I had left
Then I’d give up hope of finding her and say a last goodbye
And then catch a flash of red in the corner of my eye
She would beckon me to follow, with no way I could refuse
-That is how it used to be between me and The Muse
At the age that I am now I worry less that she’ll appear
Which means, of course, she seems to always whisper in my ear
And if she’s sitting quietly or if she needs to roar
I just enjoy her presence and I do not ask for more
I have learnt how to decipher both the silence and the noise
It’s my duty to learn to love whichever she enjoys
For we must go together so can neither win, nor lose
She exists as I exist, and will die with me, The Muse
For all of us there is a Muse, however we may see them
And we can only partner with, not replicate or ‘be’ them
Some of them are fickle and some of them are fine
Some are found by fortune and others by design
Some guide the hand attentively – some never say a word
And some will go un-heeded, while others go unheard
Regardless of our contact – we are not ‘ones’ – but ‘twos’
It is up to us to find the other part of us – The Muse
So if you see me writing or just lost inside my head
Then picture in the background an obscure form, in red
She’ll probably be lounging on a chaise-lounge – or a chair
With a soft-lit lamp highlighting the colour of the hair
That’s twirled between her fingers, while in her other hand
She holds a glass half full of wine – a most exotic brand
And if perchance I speak – pay no heed to MY views
But try to picture what she’s really on about – The Muse.
