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.