M I? ? Poem by Manish Jain

My hand starts moving.

On the paper the quill(a pen made from a bird's feather) screams



Out flow the emotions

words come out freely



It seems like poetry,

Whatever I’ve written



But, I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen.



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The lines themselves

Are my tears, are my smile



Through my quill, on my paper

I sketch myself every once a while



I record my feelings or maybe

Try to tell someone, that of my love to her



I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen.



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Maybe it’s a plea

Maybe it’s a way to get someone's sign



Maybe I just want to be hear

But it’s my only consolation



Maybe I’m just hoping

That someone-somewhere….will listen….



I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen



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The words are my pain

My love, my anger, my sorrow



The ink is my own blood

The pen is my bone, which by now is hollow…



I only try…



To relieve the pain,

To re-live the joy…



I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen



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Crying out every word



Smiling out every line



At least they are mine



In lands of dreams and rhymes



I lose myself quite often



But I’m still not a poet



It’s not verses that I pen.



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THIS IS THE WAY TO PEN THE TRUTH

THIS IS THE WAY TO PEN MY FEELINGS

THIS IS THE WAY TO PEN MY EXPERINCES

THIS IS THE WAY TO PEN MY LOVE FOR SOME 1

BUT I’M NOT A POET, IT’S NOT VERSES THAT I PEN



……PLEASE DON’T TELL ME A POET…REALLY I M NOT



Cheers….



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