Not impressed much by my words,
Someone just remarked,
'What's the need for pain?
Why can't a poetry be full of joy.'
Pondering over the thought,
I, begin to write
Obviously thinking about love,
Words soon start to flow
But thoughts soon cease,
Thinking about lovers torn by fate.
Trying again,
This time about dreams,
A palace full of glasses,
Shinning bright!
Realization soon dawns,
As world is too Real for my dreams.
Hesitant a bit, I still try,
Thinking about success,
But results at weeks end,
Leave me nervous enough to stop.
Giving it a last try,
I try writing about life,
But soon leave it,
As none of the experiences,
Being worth to share.

Managing almost nothing to write,
I, start the process again
But this time absolutely blank,
Thinking about love stories,
Scripted in heaven.
Dreams made to come true,
With a magic wand,
Soon I realize
To forget your pain,
You need to take a refuge-
In someone else's pain.
Little words of wisdom,
Few thoughts of care,
So I suppose this is poetry,
Where loneliness of a desolate eyes,
Shall reside.
If you think the change is must,
I'll write about the butterflies,
The rainbow, the stars and the skies
But then who will take care,
Of those lonely eyes…