I have followed every expectations of
The society at large
Blocked myself of all the
Potentials I could tap
All the talents I could’ve had.
Talents which I may have none
Or, talents which I could’ve nourished some.
The testimony, you ask?
Well, I write poetry and stuff
Write some few paras and stanzas
Make it rhyme or free verse
Fill it with metaphors
For which I pat my back and laugh
And then I cross it out, look at the minutes that’ve passed
Alarmed, make the tedious notes from start
When I devoid myself of words and art
And immerse in society’s validation
The end is happy and sublime, I swear
But for teetering moments it lasts.
The feeling, you ask?
Take the pen and the paper
Write some few poems and stuff
Fill it with the best of the words
And feelings you’ve had or can have.
Smile at it, crinkle your eyes with joy
And then strike it out, smear it with black ink
Never let the poem stay again.
You’ll see then that poems are mere lines,
That there’s empty side with empty lines
Just like an untapped, untouched, talentless heart.
Whose, you ask?