I have come to pray again!

To us writers
a blank paper is like a shrine
and our hearts are the offering

We tread lines
bleeding,
our pens lead the way

We write to plead our truths
but human minds are delusional-
to them,
our misery is poetry!

I said too much,
bared too deep-
the world grew tired;

People told me to weep somewhere else
had I not wept enough!
Worse?
I told myself the same!

What happens when you deprive writers of their truth?

When you deprive writers of their truth,
blank pages cease to be their homes-
rather they turn away
like a stranger’s land;
and we?
we become trespassers
violating the sanctity of the written word.

What happens when writers are left homeless?
They vanish,
they become invisible!
Left with no choice
but to see the world walk all over.

Years passed by-
I had hung my craft to starve
the writer in me begged for salvage;

Until one day,
when I found myself at crossroads-
a choice between a pot of gold and a lifetime of salvation;

I chose my truth,
I have come to pray again!

-Gauri Walecha

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