What do I write?

What do I write?
What can a penniless, clueless day dreamer
Possibly pen down?
A writer living inside her catacombs,
Never leaving her cocoons.
A dreamer, a loser, a victim
All muddled up in one head.

The vagabonds will have better stories to tell
Of seas so vast
Wind so wild
Cliffs so enthralling.
What do I pen down?
A life lived spineless
With dreams in my eyes?
A life lived cowardly
Saying yes to everybody?

What do I write?
I want to write a story
That’s more than just me.
I want to write a story
That’s far more grand than my pitiful existence.
I want to write a story
That would make the world to stop
And turn around to listen.
I want to write the story
That moves them in tears
And makes them shout out in anticipation
Or surprise.
I want to tie a single moment with joy and sorrow
They shouldn’t know which one to chew on.

No.. I won’t find such a story within these 4 walls.
I won’t find such a story if my pen is pointing at myself.
I have other shoes to wear.
I have other lives to applaud.
I have other tragedies to lament.
I don’t have to write my story always.
Because it’s depressing
It’s harsh. It’s painful.
It hurts to be honest.

Let me find a story
In the corner of a far off street.
Or in a dusty village road
Under a peepal tree.
Inside a temple pond
In the midst of silvery fishes.
On mountain tops
Where sky meets earth

Let me find my story.
So fresh, bold and beautiful.
So full of life
Let it hurt. Let it bleed.
Let it agonize me.
But let it be original.
Who wants to say a story
That’s already told?
Unless in a brand new perspective…

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