He scratches
His wounds, made in past
Of some losses,
Dejection,
Sheer rejection
Or utter failure to heal them
With his poetry,
Word-clad feel or thrills,
With medication
Of profound thoughts
Wrought poetically.
He depicts
An inner picture of forlorn feel
Vivid in candid colour
Then paints up
A silken silhouette
Of all the pent-up emotions.
He pens down
Tangled strings of sulky stings
Mild, or hard,
Loving, or craving
Be it outward
Or injected inward
Trapped in tedious tapestry.
His outpourings straight
From his heart or grabbed mind
Make him feel
Lightened,
Relieved of all high heaves:
The wounds of life
Scratched, render him healed.
