I feel, I write. A poem for every sentiment
I felt, I wrote, each day, with a tender temperament
The moment I see, turns the moment I be, My being,
So passionate, So obscure, sometimes benevolent.
I painted my imperfections, on a black lined canvas
With fonts so beautiful, I painted a picture with words,
Coloured in verses, and sometimes a hint of rhyme,
Till a point, that the painting was no more me,
Till a point I lost my self, The image was my persona,
But now it was too late, I couldn’t let go, I could see,
I could see clearly, I was tenacious to my fake reality
But still I keep writing this poem, Let me be.
-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair