Hark! The rhythm

Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...

Sunday, March 17, 2019

Whispering thoughts

They give prompts for writing.
And the triggers remind me of you
Words flow
from the nib of my pen.
Plain simple words
that I want to say to you.
Conversations
that I want to have with you.
I hold on to those words
and weave them into poetries.
I knit them into verses.
I tag them into fictions
and improvised fantasies.
People read them.
And they call me a writer.
A person of free-verses.
Only if they knew that I am no author.
And these scribblings are no poems.
That the verses they read
are merely the unrequited susurrations.


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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.