Every day, I think about how long should I wait for
One strong emotion that'll churn words out of my gut to make this poem
Patiently caressing and reading books in dim lamps like lost lovers,
Knitting and gritting vocabulary, journaling the almost-still journey of mortal days,
Heaving and healing from all known and unknown wounds
And giving in to those scars that I thought would wash away in laundry.
Not once did it come- A strong emotion that'll mark a milestone
In my reading, journaling, heaving and healing,
To feel deceitful of arts and artists in me
Born out of scars that wouldn't wash away in the laundry
And would find a meshed knot in the gut everytime it surfaces,
And spew random words forming venom like poetry,
Finding strange comfort in a reader's cozy bedroom
Trying hard to decrypt my feeling
And connect with an emotion that ignited the poem
That never came since the last summer afternoon my eyes gave up on tears and feelings.
I am still waiting for you-A strong emotion everyday,
Every morning when sun shines on my grey blood and worn out artistic cells,
To complete this poem, and to renovate the dead poets society in my head.
PS: A deal is a deal.:) @aishumeena I owe you big, even though it might seem trivial for you to make me write.
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