As I decide to take a stroll tonight,
Through a writer’s brain,
Little did my conscious knew,
Strong worded as he is, from inside, would turn out be so frail.
My first step introduced me to his past,
That keeps popping out of the deck and laugh aloud,
And then I know the real fighter that we see,
Is not someone he is for real, nothing he feels to be proud!
I ignore and move ahead,
As I search for the inspiration that he always have to show in words,
I came across a lover, and her memory inside...
They are bleeding, and I know the reason of poetry’s; its a curse!
Shrugging and amused I walk to a lane,
That leads me to a place that looks like a cave,
It’s his most cherished place within,
That’s where the ink usually decides to be brave.
I suddenly feel a touch to my hand, and I look down,
There stands a child in tears and his innocence wrapped in frown,
He talks me though his agony of being alone, deprived of friends he wanted to play with,
For, the writer missed a trick by letting me in; his courage was now proving to be a myth.
Eager to know more, as I now decided to step ahead more,
With a mission that was bursting my mind; mission to know the core,
I reached a room full of footsteps, and the rest is below what I saw,
The jungle of memories, loneliness, betrayal and punishment, all standing poised in a row!
Pleading he was, via his soul to them,
Pleading for words to continue pouring out,
He wanted the process to be silent though,
For, he hated when the dark souls heard him shout.
I tried to come back and leave his mind,
But then was hit by a thoughtful rain,
The passion that I had quit long back,
Now, just like him, I wanted to be a writer again!
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