Should I write because I’m a rebel,
or because I’ve been hurt more than one time?
I ought to get myself together,
whenever I begin to write…
I ought to organize my thoughts,
or fly into the margins or lose it all along the line
But, I know myself
I am too determined;
I never know how to keep my feelings in,
I never know how to let them out
I overwrite pages,
as to make them look perfect !
I need reassurance,
or I shall keep myself under observation
I might need a priest or a shekh,
to spot my sins and kill them with their beliefs
I shall write my sins down,
and turn them into pages
Are my means too dull to help me?
Or am I running for nothing,
and everything is coming to me?
If I don’t last forever,
I shall marry my words,
and give birth to my unborn poems
I will keep marching
along the pages
I might be too mad to lead,
too reasonable to follow
myself all through the way