There was a time,
When i used to think till nine.
And struggled to write a single line.
Then there came she
Took my heartbeats on a beating spree.
Writing became the last thought for me.
And then she left,
For a better man maybe.
Though it killed a part of me,
But it also lit another part of me
And out of all the jitter,
And out of all the quiver,
There was someone, standing, better
That was him, the writer…
by Samrat Dutta
therealcynicalwriter 