Jun 2018
feel, feel,
feel,
thrice screamed
yet the words
still lost their
allure,
letters scattered
along with
the ebbing
ardour,
candour and purity
vanished with
no trace,
and that was
when the
lights go
out.
feel,
thrice screamed
yet the words
still lost their
allure,
letters scattered
along with
the ebbing
ardour,
candour and purity
vanished with
no trace,
and that was
when the
lights go
out.
when you feel your pieces are not that sincere anymore, when you are slowly and unconsciously writing to impress, not to express. that is when a poet is ailing.
