Poetry, Writing

Stuck in the Mud

Lately I’ve been feeling stuck
Like a small stick, helpless in the mud.
The air is almost solid, stagnant.
I am without energy: Immobile
Tied up in the branches, I am caught
Climbing up the rocks has left me tired.

My mind doesn’t escape. It, too, is tired
All my thoughts are frozen, stuck
in the cobwebs of my brain they are caught
Like insects flying into the thick mud
Their wings glued together, they become immobile
And the trapping substance turns stagnant.

As in the midst of a tropical summer, the stagnant
air makes all living things helplessly tired.
Once active beings, we find ourselves immobile
In the deep roots of mangroves we get stuck.
When we want to move, through our toes oozes mud
And what was once fun now leaves us imprisoned: Caught.

Like butterflies we used to catch, now in the nets we are caught
And in glass jars our atmosphere is now stagnant.
Blindly sliding, like worms in the hot mud
The Earth, no longer cool, makes us tired
And someone has built a wall and we are stuck
facing the imposing structure, we are left immobile.

Once free and unconstricted, time is now immobile
Its hands at midnight got caught
So nothing else can move; life is stuck.
Tortured by the darkness, growth is stagnant
Even budding new green plants are tired.
The once fertile soil has been turned to mud.

Jumping into that deep volcano of mud,
falling and staying in our place, immobile
Trying to move around is useless and leaves me tired.
Where I thought I would find joy, I find myself caught
between two worlds. My excitement is stagnant
My ambition and inspiration are slowly getting stuck.

Maybe soon we won’t as easily get caught
And thinking a lot won’t leave us tired and immobile.
Then, in the stagnant mud we won’t get stuck.


Creative Writing


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