I sit here. Quiet… in deep, deep thought.
A chaos of a hundred possibilities,
A collision of a thousand thoughts,
Too much on mind, disturbing my kind.
I sit here, quiet.
I think of writing, of letting it out.
My gut discourages me, signalling a failure.
As I turn to write, to pour my heart out,
I see the hesitation, my gut warned me about.
I then see the paper calling me,
Asking me to release it, maybe give a try?
To write my own verses, or read another’s Ayat?
I sit here, in thoughts quiet.
“Let it out dear. What troubles you so more?
I have seen you this disturbed rarely before!
Share your secrets with me, tell me what you feel,
Calm your mind down, your anxieties do reveal.”
“Your soul is on fire. Let me be the ice”
I struggled to express to that calling, what I felt.
And burned the ice-cold paper, as its blankness was my mirror,
And I saw the imprint of my mind,
That which worsened my case- but was thrust up on my face.
And now again, I sit here.
I sit here, deep in thought.