Often,
Words elude expression
And on pages blank,
No ink splashes emotion.
Often,
Words refuse to materialize.
And when parched lips part,
No secrets elicit nourishment
To the bleeding heart.
Often,
Colours play hide and seek.
And inside bland lives,
Never do hearts find a reason to beat and beat and beat.
But often,
Expression survives without the crutches of words.
And even the blankness of pages
Become evidence for the empty hollowness gnawing inside.
But often, blurred words escape the rhizome of parched lips
As they quiver and quiver in hopelessness and speak a tongue of their own.
But often,
Bland lives fail to seek colours and remain bland
Their world turns into a living coffin
While the dead caravan of numerous bones breathlessly goes on and on and on.
