Scent of the papyrus lured me
Scattered were some letters
Waiting to be weaved once
Into a masterpiece unsung.
A ticket to fame shout head
Flare high the Imaginations
I sit alone in a blank might
Making no sense of empty sheets.
Naked truth are all mine I speak
In the marathon of life
I lost opportunities to think
Not loved my beloved dreams.
Fool you are to feel to write
Says the annoyed head in wonder
I smirk at his foolish thoughts
For head never rhymed for me.
Let me cry for all miseries
In the embroidery I made
Filled puzzles full of convulsions
Unleashed I, with empty alphabets.
Characters make no history
Write O fool, utter head
I scribble not some art
For words are in combat
Cheated them, in hallucinations
To equate wealth as happiness
In rush to earn and fly high
I blocked all literary quests.
Hiding in all those lies of artificiality
Left alone, with scribbles and some vacuum
Head laughs over the helplessness
I refuse to hear him, one last time.
Hiding my face in some dew
I let out a shout of pain
For the heart could not partake
And like a blast it all came.
I wrote one line of extreme distress
Then one after another came rhythms
Setting me free of all worries
A chef-d’oeuvre was in these hands.