After so long, when i returned
All i see myself surrounded by is ashes,
Ashes of what used to be home.
When i gripped my pen, All I could see tears on my pages, a certain grip to my pen, and love in my heart.
And i long for me to meet myself
As i wait for the words to line-up on pages themselves
As if those words are me, an expression of my soul.
YOU ARE READING
burning villas
PoetryStory of every writer when they lose their creative spark as they entangle themselves in the life itself, forgetting it is them that writes, not pain.
