Power of Manifestation is a Lie
Om Ganpataye Namah The desire to write again has made a comeback after years. It seemed over and done with because I had decided that it was better to be silent than be the manufacturer of stupid sentences and stupid stories . These are the rare little poems I had managed to cough up to sum up my situation: The Poet is Dead It is said That he is dead Not for the lack of bread But coz the troops he lead The words in his head In release or in dread Packed their bags And fled! Drought of Verse As I unravel Uncomplicate Steer my dinghy To a different fate Unwittingly I close the gate To rhymes, limericks And the witty ditty And dressed up words That I once found pretty My head is always abuzz with disjointed thoughts jumping from one to another in quick succession. I have wasted a substantial amount of my adulthood living in an imaginary future, an addiction so pleasant that the prese...