Endless Journey Beyond
Yet I fail on the forefront,
I am the same knife that- was, am and will always be blunt.
I seek for inspiration like the writer
In his mid life crisis,
Struggling to find passion and a strong insight,
And suddenly I just saw a mirage of oasis,
From which I brushed away my mind without much attention,
Thinking it was mere illusion
To realize, it was indeed my moment of inspiration,
Moments missed like this one makes me think
If ever I will be witty
or remain always blunt and sticky.
I speak of great writers,
Who aspire from the dearth,
Write from their girth with such passion
And find solitude, replete their life’s yearning.
But I see a blind man without vision,
Trying to write with passion about changing season,
Failing time and again
In the mirror.
Am I a blunt knife that never got to live in the dearth of poverty,
Struggling to educate him himself with half filled stomach?