Scribble

I look for words,
Words that would guarantee me an expression of the sane.
But in vain.
For my thoughts have a language of their own
To no one else which is known.

But I scribble,
An attempt to prove, rather a pretence of it, that I am simple.
That my life doesn’t cast on my forehead a wrinkle.

Am I lost?
How much, to be happy, does it cost?
I don’t know,
I wonder if anyone does.
Although,
The world sells dreams, and creates a buzz.

Tcha tcha…I blame people for not knowing what they have got.
Things that I have not.
But when I fish into myself,
I find
A gift,
That I hadn’t known for years I had
Right inside my mind.

Who do I call a fool? I am one.
For I was tempted to believe that some wrongs can’t be undone.

Love exists,
(Oh no… I didn’t want it to turn all mush…
but listen…)
Why do we run for it? What’s the rush?
Take your time, don’t jump into anything,
Or jump out of it.
But yes, sometimes you need to create a noise,
Need to shout a bit.
At times you need to think… what you’re holding on to
And what you’re letting go.
To what you’re saying “yes”, to what you’re saying “no”.
Take your time…you have a choice, and the right to show.