A writer or a poet shares a very weird relationship with words, the kind that maybe an over-thinker shares with his thoughts, i.e., to say he/she gets very easily overwhelmed by them and wants to fight to make sense out of them. They struggle to create perfect sentences and express themselves.
There are million words
Fighting wars in the back of your mind.
Shooting across like fireworks on a dark night.
Erupting from the hell hole
To ashen all life,
Waters uncontrollable
And you become an eternal tide.
The landmine explosions, they are.
Beautiful and smokey,
Layering the field of vision
And coating all structures behind.
You want to knock them down,
Punch them in their face.
Devoid them of the hold they have
On the reins of your horses;
Driving them into insanely lustrous pastures,
Only to be direction less
In the end of all of it.
You want to hurl stones at them,
Leave them fallen to be picked.
So that you can put them in a straight line.
Make sense of their filth, of chaos and amplify
Meaning out of their existence;
Similar to pearls floating in the ocean bed.
But you want them to bead up in a necklace
And adorn the seat of smile
On a proud Mistress.
I hope you had a great time reading this poem. And if you want to stay just a little bit longer, the podcast for this is available here.
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