The Poet’s Heart
A reflection when writing fails.
Published in
1 min readMay 15, 2020
Sometimes I feel I have made my life a fairytale which is made up of forever moments, my poems are those stardusts that I can’t hold so I scatter willingly on the pages.
Sometimes I bury them beneath the flowers, I wonder how many times a poet dies when the poems fail to bloom, when there is no fragrance just pieces of moon and ash. When instead of ink there are tears, when the page becomes soggy and the words are smudged, when there’s a trail of pages leading to the poet’s heart.
I wonder how many cracks there are in the Poet’s Heart.
