Photography by Meher Gandhi.
As I Write These Words
By Meher Gandhi
My stomach feels it again-
The twitch, the knot.
My head swirls again,
In the midst of everything I forgot.
And, as I write these words,
This paper seems to be breathing again;
Taking in all the emotions untouched,
Breathing out all the pain.
Sadness and despair aren’t sins.
Broken dreams often prick like pins.
I still curl my lips into a smile I can bear,
For I know, gloom denies to hold tight for only one’s share.
I can see happy clouds.
But, don’t they sadly block the rays?
Rays which instil hope and light rays which fall loud?
On seeing them, how do I smile, anyway?
Looking beyond the unforeseen,
I am talking of the foretold.
Sun will be born again,
Stars will once more draw the chains.
This ink is giving itself shapes on paper,
Which I daresay, my heart recognizes.
This ink running like blood had once stopped midway,
But, that is a story to be told some other day.
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