Anonymous
Too ordinary when he walks
With men of drifting thoughts
Just so typical as he talks
To people filled with doubts
Like anybody when he writes
His words become confessions
Still too human as he scribes
The still unanswered questions
Might be unrecognized
‘Cause he conceals this humble being
Might be that so perplexed
Who’ll burst out this hidden feeling
Couldn’t stand the men
Whose hearts have harden
Couldn’t bear reality
That’s blurred with cruelty
Only rage fuels the pen
To melt those hearts so frozen
If only words can awaken
Those men who can’t be shaken
As pen glides a hymn
Ideas flow in rhythm
For every stroke is a story
Worth written testimony
If a painter has his colors
To change the world of dolor
Then a writer got his words
Even sharper than a sword
He only exists by a common name
That’s soon to hibernate in oblivion
He only writes not for fame
But to express this mawkish confessions
- Written in 2008
Copyright © Amira Bagumbaran | Year Posted 2017
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