Ink splashing upon that blank lonely page, making love to the emptiness
in her life.
Wanting to make her feel free
from her cage,
of utter consciousness.
She fathoms
creating patterns and lines,
with this ink.
To form letters words and sentences,
in alliteration and repetition,
rhyme with a reason.
Manifests phrases to
dwell in a poem
written in
her own writing.
Nothing else feels so satisfying
If said otherwise, she’d be lying!
Hidden safely in these pages-
Are stories untold!
Emotions undelivered!
Concerns unaddressed!
Wars unaccounted for!
Memories that are sour!
Things she will never say-
In verses that she pens down alone
at nights
when she can’t sleep!
Poetry is the air she breathes.
Poetry is the air she breathes.
-udbhavi
No comments:
Post a Comment