I go through life composing sentences in my mind
Sometimes they run into paragraphs, at others times I find
They stay unfinished, hanging in mid-air
Like unrealized dreams, stuck in despair
Sometimes they morph into questions profound
The answers to which I have not found
Sometimes they appear out of nowhere with such clarity
That I want to write them down, or commit them to memory..
*
I go through life like a narrator in a play
I narrate parts of my life in my head every day
Because of this I believe, quite audaciously
That a writer’s soul resides within me..
Passion...unbridled 