Words are like
the clusters of stars
vast and beautiful,
and I wanna gather
them all along
decoratively
and in a manner that
they reveal the essence
of the universe
soul and the
God Almighty
for I know that
this is the only way
to express myself
the only way,
to run away
without leaving home
but whenever I try,
I scribble over blank pages
tear them, crush them,
throw them, destroy them,
even the pen and my
intense feelings too
Because I know it’s
not my cup of tea
Or maybe,
just maybe
my feelings weigh
more than words
could ever express,
more than just
ink and paper?
