They glanced at the paper and  questioned my love for a poem..
love? The peace it yields , how do I unfold  thee...?
I glanced at my ink and sank deep in my brood
For more than a lover for me was my poetry...

Cuz' i write for my  urge to be heard in a crowd..
And The yearn to be seen on my own .
For The thought of loyalty my ink would offer
And to cherish the love my paper has forever shown.

When the tears diffuse with the ink
And I adorn my pain on the page
When  meant to be forgotten creates an unforgettable memory,
That's when the fragile paper breaks the toughest cage.

And the moment I realise  that the world's not bright enough to light my days
And that , no being on this earth could ever hold my tears
That's the time I hold my pen and bleed the words
And my paper, listens to me better than  rest  all the earthly ears.

The beings would live with you but leave you lone
the ink paper would love you even in your solitude
And so a writer stabbed by the world when  returns home
Yearn his carmine blood to be ink blued.

When the squeals of the world inside Slaves the heart mind and soul
The whispers of words sets them free
No ponder her verses carry her life
And  more than a lover for a poet is her poetry.