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.