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Nothing to write, yet
A lot to express,
Me and my aims
From which I digress.
A pen in my hand,
A paper to help---
A thought crammed mind
A search for self.
What do I write on?
Laughter, pain or joy?
Or, shall it be an infant
Fondling with his toy?
No! Enough of all that
No purpose it serves
Gifted with indifference
Yet, relaxes my nerves.
And even if I write
A poem it is not
So mundane, so common,
All desires untaught…
But still, I keep writing
God knows why I do
Liars dictate our lives…
Truth is fading? ---That’s true.
~Gini~
01.07.2004
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Poems By Gini
Kavitanjali
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