Posted in Verses

A Writer’s Regret

You sense a dream

Rising out of the smokescreen

An idea, a word

A thought unripe;

But before you can take a close look

You let go

And it melts away from view –

An icicle in the summer

A child on a railway platform

Drowning in the rush of voices in your head

Pushed and pulled by fast paced deadlines

The clamor of a red signal

The cacophony of necessities.

Till one night,

When you find yourself awake

Cradling the corpse

Of a half-forgotten dream,

A forsaken word,

A drop of sanity.

Author:

A wayward thinker hiding behind the facade of necessary courtesies

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