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Ink-Stained Fingers

By Nikhita Rao

Now there’s ink on my hands,

Spread thick on my fingers,

And try as I might,

They wash away not.

The thought dies on my ink-stained fingers,

In a flash in my eye,

I was blinded by its light,

As the white of its sight

Made me tremble,

And close my eyes.

Humbled was I,

To be granted the right,

To envision the bright,

Descending, invisible,

To all but me, in truth.

With a head bowed down,

I lettered with care,

The sight, sound, sense,

In words and words,

To distil its essence.

But in the black words,

When I read it back,

I dimly see and faintly hear,

The supernova attack.

Like traveling over lightyears,

I twist and turn,

the words over and over,

Showing and not telling,

The best I can.

But the sun becomes candlelight,

As I resuscitate the dying star,

My pupils dilate in the darkness,

Searching for the memory,

Of the bright light.

As the halo fades,

Can I bring it back to life,

After it revealed itself to me?

Did I just see the corpse,

Or did I stab it in,

To capture it in my hurry?

I am left with the husk,

And a memory of the dusk,

And I cry in despair,

That I couldn’t transcribe,

The poetry of that flare.

By Nikhita Rao

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Ankita Ojha
Ankita Ojha
Sep 19, 2023
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

The struggle of a creator beautifully captured! Loved the last two lines specially:)


Elizabeth Mathai
Elizabeth Mathai
Sep 14, 2023
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

A poem that bravely renders every writers dilemma - whether or not they did justice to their muse. A lovely read.


Nirmalkumar S Danke
Nirmalkumar S Danke
Sep 14, 2023
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Very well said


Sathya Murali
Sathya Murali
Sep 14, 2023
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.



Pratik Hegde
Pratik Hegde
Sep 14, 2023
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Great Peom 👍🏻

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