Poets don’t cry..they bleed on paper..every drop of blood becomes a verse…every verse tells a story…
To the world it becomes a master piece …The wrung out pain of a broken heart….who knows of agony hidden within but the one hurting.
The readers praise the ability of a writer…and admire the writing… if only they knew how stormy it gets…how fatigue filled is the phase…
Seated by the tomb of the heart…recalling the slow death of every unfulfilled dream…turning the silent tears to words for the world to be entertained.
Simaya
Unrefined Poetry 