Every writer traverses through an eerie tunnel, With walls echoing questions louder and louder, To which they stumble and silence their pens, With the fear of being read, Dreading the reality of being a writer. Many stories remain hidden and untold, Labelled not worthy of this world, Neither better enough to be appreciated, Nor to be even read! Not being read is disheartening, But the horror of being read overrides them all. Once the words are aired to the limitless horizons, It's read by thirsty eyes and may conquer their minds, Beyond borders and languages alike, With no conscious effort of its creator. It sounds wow, but that's scary too. How ever experienced and prolific one be, A writer doubts oneself until the very end, Re-read and re-write over a hundred times, Still unsatisfied with the ultra-polished piece of creativity, With words that might themselves yearn to be read, But still, the fright is real and inescapable. Whatever gets poured onto t
This is a place where I discover myself and try to help you discover yourselves.