I have a dream,
a dream to feel the flow of words from my heart.
To express the screams of my inner voices,
To convey the words from the depths of my thoughts,
To feel the grip of my pen,
telling stories that no one listens to...
To become a wordsmith,
so that the world recognises me with my verses.
A genuine passion of my soul,
which keeps burning and emerging.
But the fire in my soul is extinguishing slowly,
My intense emotion to become a poet
is fading into a mist.
And, I'm lost in that mist,
I became a puppet in the hands of the society...

© anotherdeadpoet