They said that in the mind of every poet,
There lies depression, broken
They said maybe love never felt or a love despised.
That these weavers of words are shattered wares.
Maybe neglected wives or dishonored husbands.
They say that behind every great writer..
Is a broken past, a trail of pain.
They said writers are lonely and introverted
That our only companions is the ink that doesn’t judge us.
Our only solace is the words that decorate the scrolls
And our sole companion is the pen dancing between the fingers.
Maybe they are right.
It could be that our pain drips out when we write.
The same phrase goes that…
Broken hearts make the sweetest songs.
It is the scrolls that roll away the loneliness we fill.
So cheers to the happy souls!
Cheers to them that sail through worlds..
To read our art and pacify their scrambled minds.
Cheers to the judges who have no souls to pour..
Yet our words bring them calm and joy.
And yes… We are broken…
Like rocks to form the small sand and gravel
To sooth your feet as you walk to your brighter days.
Like tiny piece of diamonds,
Or the cold snow flakes…
And we will write on and on as it keeps us light.
Or how else would you smile knowing that you are right?