Putting pen to paper
Is my catharsis to
Weave feelings and thoughts,
Thoughts for which there
Is no concrete definition,
For sometimes, they are
A mere juxtaposition
Of colors and lights;
Others, descriptions of
Things held dear and dreams
I wishe to make a reality of.
Occasionally, nostalgia
Takes command as words flow
Into a narrative of ambivalence.
Writing is my magic,
It enables me to give birth
To characters and build worlds
For them to reside in.
It is therapeutic
For I regain my balance
When I gain control of
What I create and the feelings
That those creations evoke.
Some write to create and
To provide justice,
To escape reality and
Express the inexplicable,
To voice muted opinions
And to divulge fantasies.
Some write when
There is no respite
Other than the
Unobstructed flow of
Thoughts into words,
But we all write
As a way of life
And a means to live.
For we have two lives,
The one we are
Ascribed with and
The one we create,
And there are two worlds
To live those lives in,
The one we exist in and
The one we see, create
And spend our life in.
A writer is one
Who not only lives
In his world of color,
But he also makes
It accessible for all.


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