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Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry n...

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

A Writer

Of years of solitude
And a final downpour,
Of dreams broken
And all the pieces ashore,
I wondered where went that river
Of all the possibilities.
The pen was lying dead
On a blank paper;
The ink overflown
Drenched my soul;
I wondered if I could ever make right
The massacre I left behind.
I wondered if I could
Ever do what's right.
They told me I was a writer
And that made my life.

4 comments:

  1. "And that made my life." Beautiful and soulful Sanhita! Keep writing!

    Someone is Special

    ReplyDelete
  2. Love to read it, This article is very nice, I really enjoy, thanks for sharing useful information.
    paper writer for hire

    ReplyDelete
  3. Totally pleasing to the eye! Thanks for sharing excellent information.
    Do my book report for me

    ReplyDelete