A Quirk To Soliloquy
A danger to my thoughts
An intellectual imprisoned to her roots
Who am I to mingle?
Am I to squeeze the truth?
I am confused and tattered
But even when breaking
I make ends meet
What is it for me to further seek?
Despite of all the truth unfolded
Yet my questions are still tricked to be asked
I have tried drowning myself in distractions
Yet all is fated to be discovered
What were held are bound to dust
I’ve held me and still have not come ashore
Words written are better off than words said
But those unspoken have wrecked me more than it should
I have revealed baggages
And yet here I am still caught in a wordplay
A poetic disgust for those who fathomed
Yet applauded for those who knew lesser pain
I have been asked more than I have answered
Yet my questions remain a riddle
I am perfectly watered plant in a broken pot
Is it another riddle? Have I again made you wonder?
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