Don't start
Or stop writing poetry ever
To think that it was only
A poem you were writing

Don't fish for
Lazy metaphors
To clothe inside out your urge
Or its succour
And brood over their
One-dimensionality
Which strip the poem as if
Of its sleeves

Don't of your own volition
Give in to a smooth narrative
Of hitherto agreed upon codes – of words
and phrases –
And look eagerly
For full-blooded bumps
Of nerves
Paced out of their flow

Don't Don't

Don't slip lustily –
The straight or roundabout dash –
For the culmination of your laboured
Midwifery to yourself with yourself
To that justifiable pay-off
Outside of you
And be left to reflect over
The inanity of it all

Don't name your poem
Like covering up
Your last mistake,
Knowingly or unknowingly,
And find it echoed two ways

Don't fear losing
Your muse, your ease
With yourself
To swear at your
Long-awaited triumph

Better still, don't write a poem
I told you so.

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