Poet…

She taught me how to join syllables of sorrow
And string together letters of remorse
To create words
And arrange them to form a verse
A verse that speaks of a heart
Of which, Love made a Poet
And Time, a Rebel.
A verse that tells the story of a rebel,
Who owed her destiny to the merciless world
And her poetry to her own world
Every word she scribbled
Represented a rent on her own body
And an image of it on her soul
They said time heals all wounds
But what becomes of the wounds inflicted by time
Only she knew…
Her parchment was the hide of her soul
Her tears, her ink
With her mutilated existence as her quill
She created the most lamentable thoughts,
The most reproachful expressions,
Of the most unfathomable convictions…
They called it poetry
And christened her a poet
The poet who was born out of Love
And faded into Time
To evolve as a Rebel
She is the poet that lives inside me…
She taught me how to join syllables of sorrow
And string together letters of remorse
To create words
And arrange them to form a verse…