My write-ups, my scribbling
They reflect my heart, my feelings
My pen is guided by my soul
It’s my humbling resort to healing
Readers may appreciate, what I write
But you would know, what I meant
They might criticize my creations
But you would know the tears I spent
No metaphor will work my way
No figure of speech would disguise
My thoughts are all bare to you
No effort to conceal would suffice
I write for entertainment, for fun
You can enjoy; you should unwind
But you keep digging hidden facts
Why you constantly weigh and feel my mind
The sketch of my feelings encase a lot
Beautiful words, mesmerizing sentences
Why don’t you settle for outer vanity?
Why you go deep and tear my fences?
I write and give voice to my mute soul
I write so that I say all, and you hear none
I sketch feelings meant to stay hidden
Yet you see through them, no, not done
I mince words,; play with lines
But to you they come so clear and obvious
How can you decipher them so easily?
Why defying your acquisition is so tedious?
No! Please take my creation just for its beauty
Don’t unravel my soul; don’t be so keen
Why is that when you go through them?
My deceptions so easily felt, sensed and seen
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