The Butterfly and the Poet

Where did this journey start?
Well the scribbles on the wall,
When I was just a toddler,
Growing into the kid,
Who ate the chalk,
With which he was supposed to write!
That’s the one – I believe!

One writes as it is a part of life.
The emotions bottled up within,
Need to find an outlet,
Gratification by others plays a small part.
The writer writes,
For he is like the butterfly in love,
That knows it has a short life span,
But is still madly in love!

The poet writes,
Knowing he is a failure,
A dejected, rejected, forlorn,
Individual, seeking comfort,
In memories of a love,
That never was,
Friends who have long ago,
Forgotten him and gone on,
To achieve success and glory.

The poet sits,
Looking at the notebook,
The fountain pen,
No longer oozes ink,
Just blood…
Life goes on..

We write, because we need to write!



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