Here I am,
On the terrace, gazing the evening sky,
Wondering if I could scribble down some lines,
Empty paper, empty mind,
Words are there, but refusing to align,
Scratching the beard, grooming the hair,
I write the first word, and as the ink is spilt,
I couldn't help but see the paper's pleasurable guilt,
Now that the paper is empty no more,
I wonder, isn't that what we are all looking for,
Something to fill, Something to feel,
I feel something, but on my neck,
Damn the...