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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.
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Comments

  1. Someone is SpecialFebruary 19, 2015 at 3:00 PM

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

    Someone is Special

    ReplyDelete
  2. UnknownFebruary 21, 2015 at 1:01 PM

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

    ReplyDelete
  3. UnknownApril 9, 2015 at 12:11 PM

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

    ReplyDelete

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