I promised him, I won't write a poem again...
It's been more than a month now
Yet I have written a million on my heart
A million on my mind, my soul, in between conversation, in pieces, in whole...
I have written them time and again, never to be read, never to be heard, never to be told
For I kept a promise I dearly hold,
Never to write a poem again, unless I am told
Oh, the pictures can't describe what I feel,
Where are the metaphors? I am done with the reel.
Where are the words? For you can't read my mind.
Where are the innuendos or the shy gestures from the divine?
Oh, how can I be myself if I don't pause to think, to write.
To experience is heaven, but no more poems is a sacrilegious crime
I break the promise today, to unveil another one
No more poems on Facebook, but many more on the leaves of my mind...
