Numerous stories cramped up in one,
Too many pathways, but reaching the end of none.
Loving things and then suddenly I’m done.
Blacking out for a while, then finding light,
Liking it for a few moments before it hurts my eyes.
Why did I choose this life? I wonder.
Do I really want to be a part of everything, or just a bystander?
Who am I, what am I here
A rock stuck in a raging river?
Somedays, I write my fate,
Other days, just scribble
Six seconds of attention, then I start to fiddle,
I guess nothing sticks with me
as much as being fickle.
Poem by Priya D’Silva
© 2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No content on this blog is to be copied, borrowed or used without due permission from the author. Doing so will result in legal action.