My job, my love, my life, here it is :How much of an ignorant fool must one be To search for any meaning elsewhere.Where my
Writing is the alibi for inner life. Life emerges on the sheet’s surface. The paper outlet offers inner life a reason for being. Even though,
The writing process is never complex. This does not mean anything.The complexity lies in the processes that the writer describes, not in the writing itself.
This poem is following : What Makes me Feel like Crying (1/2) This is the point where wordsCollapse into linesAnd lines fade out in dots,Where
I have never written any article, I barely watched articles writing themselves.I have never grabbed the pen because I had something to say.I merely held
Writing is difficult when you dip your quill in your own personal inkpot. Ideas get glued up and go lumpy. They end up tied in