Me, Myself

Here I sit, on this chair,

Typing these few lines.

Hoping I could make a book someday-

And publish it for the public.

I write for my satisfaction,

I write what I think is true.

What I feel for others,

Also when I feel blue.

Words flow out of me,

Without rhyme, with reason.

Though not every time,

Not every season.

It’s difficult sometimes,

To express what I feel.

Cause English isn’t my language,

To truly express what I mean.

Yet I try to be as explicit and simple,

In my words.

So forgive me friends,

If my poems taste like sour curds.

For me, a poem means, simplicity of all humans

I write most of them, not just for fun

Its language so simple, so that we need not go thru’ a dictionary

Like most of them, it’s like playing a game of pictionary.