I don't know what it is

I don’t know what it is

but i am writing it with a fountain pen

made of pain

dipping it in the drops of wistful tears

 

i have not felt weaker ever before

entirely shattered  to the core

i am hearing scary voices within

my hopes perhaps are crying

 

for ages i have consoled my heart

tired by telling it numerous lies

but now i have drowned too deep in a well

with no bottom to land

 

the already faded ray of hope above

is now completely gone

its too dark and  i have nowhere to go

no where to even stop

 

the broken part in me that used to fight 

for me against the world alone

has also been killed now

the battle i was fighting

 with one piece of me

is too now lost

 

i don’t know what it is i am writing

but i don’t want to stop

the moment  I finish writing

unknown fears will be caught

 

i  wish only if man had the ability

to keep on writing till eternity

i would have went on and on

and perhaps died this way

 

i don’t know what it is m writing

its not a poem or me a poet

poets write with heart and soul

and mine are long been killed

 

but these words still i will save

for these are now all i have got

i will read them in the times when

i will need someone to talk