They tell me “I have to stop”
Its a waste of time.
You are spoiling your life.
You are no good at it.
You have a good job at hand.
Why don’t you focus on that?
MBA, Medicine, IT- it sells
Poetry doesn’t sell.
Is this poetry what you write?
It has no rhyme.
Its like a story.
Why don’t you write a story then?
Did the results come?
Have you won this time?
Lost again.. What a shame!
Are you gonna write again?
Can’t you see what I have written?
Its a little poem on dreams.
Yes I call it a poem. ‘Cause that’s what I wrote.
I would buy it with my last penny. ‘Cause I believe in it.
I take a deep breath, anger fumes out.
Smell of wet ink fills my nostrils
I’m on a high only a writer can know.
Its the smell of my words.. brimming with life.