An artist draws a portrait
Potrait of self
And that is alright
But a poem for self?
Not that my poems are not reflecting enough
But then a poem of me
Is a must
Me
What am I like..?
I keep wondering
What am I like
Am I self centred too much
To think so..
I mean there are people
Who cares so much
About people surrounding them
They remember and count down
Days to their birthdays
Posts and shorts
And everything in between
They go all out
They hang out
They talk
And there is me in the corner, wondering
If I should add another character in my fantasy world
Or whom to match with whom
Wondering if I can write all the stories
And if nothing else
I wonder
Just why do people
Do what they do
It's complicated for me to understand
But the world works in strange manners
There's paradox everywhere
Hell people are paradox
We forget perceptions of two keeps the world running
Yet one is right, one is wrong
And wrong is the one
Whose perceptions was never known
One keeps pulling the other
To forgotten abyss
Untill both have vanished
And ran out of fuel to argue
Me
Well I got distracted again
What's a me, I and self?
Just what is it?
Is it that ego filled teenager?
Or the one who spends hours thinking
No knowing, I have a space to run off to
A galaxy, no
An Omniverse ..
A space of my own
Me...
I hope it's something good
I hope
Hope and hope
If, that, if it is possible
I would rather be me
Me and me
Over, and over and over again
Then be anything else
YOU ARE READING
Lost words
PoetrySome words, some thoughts, some feelings-- complicated, intricate, fragile gets lost in the day to day. So let's carve out those, and let them breathe and come to existence through the mere power of poetry
