I seek inspiration from what I wrote
To be followed by a blank screen staring
I wonder what changed
The day, the night, coward or daring
I will try again tomorrow
To imagine you in the audience hearing

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The fine line between writing for someone and writing to someone is called reality check

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And another night survived
With a similar template of questions
A revised revisit to a map unknown
A route so familiar, yet always unsure

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I am struggling to make sentences
And there is no poetry in that
Words evade my comprehension
And the drafts can testify
A lost art or a lost artist?

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the only thing reciprocating
about an unrequited love
is a poem about it

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To retry is to not submit to failure
To restart is to not submit to success

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Are you there?
There you are!
Are we there?

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the thing about unrequited love,
it is generally found when you are lost
and it is generally lost when you find yourself

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my muses are there somewhere
sometimes in the same city
and at times in the same sky,
sometimes in my vicinity
and at times a sugarcoated lie

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The great obsession with numbers
begins with
the maternity leave
and dies with
the bereavement leaves

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