To have words meander like the gushing stream to a weary traveler
To have rhythms flutter about like the half hearted beats of broken wings,
To have these chunks of you buried deep inside, always scratching, clawing
their way out from the mire of forgotten pages.
To crave what is between your palms,
To drink from the fountain overflowing at your feet,
If only, you could stoop down, to scoop up.
What it feels like to be,
A poet nervously holding on to the life strings of his poem
A Phantom, gliding through broken walls,
Swimming through shallow seas
Pouring out words like petals on empty graves,
Scribbling down letters like fated seals on hearty rocks!
That is what it feels like to be Lorded by words.