The Writer's Soul
The Writer's Soul
When the whole world was a busy bee,
Only then I found him,
I got to know it, understand it,
Though never getting through it
It was as cumbersome as anyone would think maths is,
Lately i tried to fill in it
Feel it feelings
Free its grieving,
Still, I'm on the same hyperparabola line,
The folks never noticed
And he never coveted
Yet this unoticed had the most remarkable charm,
The most beautiful and alluring feelings hidden,
Though no one seeking for it
Because they can't interpret the wordplay,
My heart yearned to learn the enamor,
Unlike others who left it inconspicuous ,
When I peeped in through me,
It was clear crystal
Yeah! It was the writer's soul
The ink and the paper.