Writer's block

I fear, really do fear sometimes as I look at the stuff I wrote and then I think...that I may not be able to write something. The feeling you get, when you do write something which satisfies yourself is not foreign to any aspirant poet...so does the fear I think, of losing this gift

Having glimpsed thus, the face so divine,
Left my soul now, with wanting so entwined
Seeking light, so ludicrous in the mid of the day,
Finding it not so, the intellect says
The words penned down, so long ago,
Makes me wonder, how it felt so
The fleeting touch, revealed for that moment,
Leaves me writhing, in this expectant torment
Or may it be, the lamp which has glowed,
Now deprived of oil, none from the canister flows
Or may it be the arrow, tracing an arc in the sky,
Past its highest peak, now spent on the floor it lies
But the soon that I despair, of the touch divine,
Realization strikes, of paucity now used to revive
Whereby, even the lack of words,
Thereby the hurt,
May be curbed

Writer’s block