A Strange Desire

I wish I could write a word,
Out of multitude of thousands,
That might raise my mettle,
And be recognized at the first glance.

The naughty hope whispering
Tells me time and again,
“Write, write and write more, ”
Some one should tell me how long,
I should write for writing,
Made me half dead.

The disjoint, disordered, paralyzed,
The dumb, deaf and mute words,
Give no voice, no sound and no sense,
They neither unlock their lips,
Nor convey my inner self.

Oh! God;
Give me a word alive and spirited,
That should share my joys, my worries,
Laugh, joke, play and ply with me,
Open the door of mysteries,
And in my absence respond at,
My name is addressed by someone else.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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