I’ll Write Again

There were days, when I would write,

All my feelings, of sorrow, joy or delight.

My pen was my best friend ever,

That filled me with credence and fervor.

Things I couldn’t share, things I couldn’t show,

When read in my rhythm, gave me a glow.

I was secretive yes I do concur,

But I felt snugged, that integrated my spurr.

Writing blew off, all my grudge,

And instilled a smug of not being a drudge.

My imagination flew up and high,

Was calmed, comforted and relieved of all the sigh.

But things have changed, far a lot,

Now its strange, but I hardly jot.

I have lost the patience, or the art,

Or perhaps the melody has flown off my heart.

In an attempt to theorize what happened,

Strange but true, love was found the delinquent.

Love of my life knows all that was hidden,

All my inaccessibles, to him lie open.

The lanes that could be in my poetries of yore,

Now are a bridge between me and my shore.

Good or bad, but I’m spared with no time,

To shape my feelings in the rhythmic line.

His presence has seeped in all my flashes,

So my pen and my diary have been long in my satchel.

But today when I talked to my soul,

It showed me the memoirs that took me to toll.

My pen, my diary, my vision of freedom,

Have hardly been stimulated any seldom.

This change wont last any more I assure,

I’ll pen my feelings again, as that makes me feel secure.

Being in love is a beauty I agree,

But it is not to change myself from me.

I am a person of diary and pages and ink,

I’ll make sure that my rhythm never again loses the link.