Call of Muse

If only I could convince my pen, imbue it with the knowing of my soul, that I am a poet, a writer, endowed with the ability to transcend, to perceive and feel the world through a kaleidoscope of emotions. God fashioned me akin to the nightingale, breathing life into my every word, anointing me with the gift of expression, granting me the power to enchant, to weave tales of light and darkness, to sing the unsung melodies of existence. I carry my heart on my palm, a vulnerable tapestry of empathy, for I care deeply, passionately, immersing myself in the ebb and flow of humanity’s triumphs and trials. I am a vessel, a conduit of emotions, a reflection of the human experience. If only I could convince my pen, to dance with the rhythm of my heartbeat, to surrender to the call of inspiration, and ink the verses that dwell within, the unfiltered essence of my being. To unravel the secrets of my soul, and paint the world with the hues of truth. Oh, how I long for my pen to grasp the untamed essence of my emotions, to capture the whispers of my spirit, and release them upon the waiting page. If only it would pen my truth, my hopes, my fears, my deepest yearnings, and bring them to life in poetic symphony. But perhaps, dear pen, it is not your reluctance, but rather my own trepidation, to unveil the depths of my soul, to relinquish control and let the words flow. For true artistry lies not in persuasion, but in surrender to the muse’s gentle caress, and trusting that the ink shall unveil, what I truly feel, what I long to share. let me embrace the uncertainty, let me trust the alchemy of creation, for the pen is but an extension of self, and when I surrender, it shall write, the poetry that resides in the core of my being, transcending the limitations of language, and resonating with hearts yet unknown. If only I could convince my pen, to be an instrument of my truth, to paint the world with my soul’s palette, then, perhaps, I shall become the poet, the writer, I was born to be. …