Ode to Indolence

Once I took up my pen to write ..
about what?
was it about the ray of experience
that lights up a life,
or rather,
makes life seem
all the more lived in.
The poet in me saw
words come, glide by, and vanish.
a Sentence just ran past.
None stopped long enough,
for me to reach out and grasp,
Still I tried to capture an elusive thought or two,
But then came thoughts of the winter sun,
and visions in russets and browns
of the leaves outside my window,
and erratic patches of broken sunlight
dancing among the leaves.
and felt the warmth of grandma's tattered old shawl
lull me into a premature nap.

And then, oblivious to pain,
oblivious to poetry,
the would-be poet slept,
I slept.