Poetic Confessions

The poems always come to me
or I feel so.
I usually turn away,
pretending to be busy.
It is as though they hide
at nooks and corners
waiting to turn up
as soon as I come.
The longer I turn away,
the more they arrive
one after the other
in torn clothes
like mendicants,
like babies on the doorstep,
like penniless relatives
with stories so desolate.
I’d need a heart of stone
not to listen.
I therefore,
bleed my pen for them.

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20 thoughts on “Poetic Confessions

  1. @imlos,Wow man, you are back.Tell me, how does it feel like being a seventh grade student at the office?I'll surely find some time to put all my thoughts down.@Asif,Thanks :)True.Cent percent.@Raziman,Sure.@Rohini ma'am,Thanks.Well, my poetry skills are not that very great, still I'll take my turn :)@Tanvi,I will not.Sure.@ Balachandran sir,At times, they are. But sometimes I feel as if they are leading me to unknown places…Well, reading is my pleasure, but writing..not as much.

  2. don't turn away from things that u love to do…never hold back urself to regret it later…let the emotions flow into the words of ur poems..nice write..!!! try reading my new post

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