Where art thou, Oh! Greatness that I seek

Where art thou Oh! Elusive magnificence

Can thou ever be found, or will my endeavor

be destined to end in failure

It's a pain, buried deep deep in my soul

A pain that's a constant reminder of my failure

To seek you

Vain I am not, proud I dare not be

For what have I achieved till date

And constantly do I fail to raise the bar

Mediocrity has become my hallmark

Forgive me for asking

Do I actually have it in me?

Because if I don't then why does it hurt so bad

The pain that tortures my soul yet refuses to

Reach the Pad

Why do you OH pen, my weapon of choice

Play truant when I need you the most

To express thoughts that only a heart like mine can

Boast (of)

A poet I am not. An art that I can never master

Yet I write beating my head, juggling words and phrases

Crying out to the muse, to organise my senses

And told me She did

Who the hell do you think you are!!! ( Its my muse after all)

William Shakespeare

Suppress the mind and open up thy soul

Impale thy heart with thy pen

Only then will life come in your dried up glen.

Soak the paper with thy blood

But that sounds so painful Oh muse!

Isn't there an easier way that I can use

Can't understand simple metaphors

Yet calls himself a writer

Will tell this to you only once

Believe me it works

Stuck when ever you are

Open up the treasures of your heart

Believe me Its there

You just need to find the key

And then your creations will be there

FOR ALL TO SEE