Writer's block #2
It was yesterday
the world poetry day,
but I just couldn't,
couldn't come up with an idea
once again, like a beginner.
It is as if the whole magic,
all the great thoughts
once and only released for a purpose
that of creating, that of writing
my first prose notebook.
Therefore, I'm terribly sorry
there's nothing I wish to write.
I know should I neither worry
nor even should I apologise
for this part of my life cycle.
Soon, perhaps in the long run
I probably might be able
to make a careful observation,
for deep instrospection to happen;
yet I'm not in the mood for that.
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