To write again when a new inspiration hits An unveiling truth is beyond anew Accidental passion won't dismiss Of what the heart truly wants to accrue Even if that's an unfathomable abyss Those cracks and breaks were nothing Compared to what's been loved and adored Fears and doubt have gradually accumulating Yet, fears can't afford to abhor the reward I knew that those would end as I was briskly assimilating Words of wisdom have no sound to hear But somehow to some 'who' It's quite loud enough and I'm all ears There's no adieu to poetic phrase—a life's construe Exceptionally to those classical auctioneers To write again was an exuberant stunt It's a simple chore that a poet does A wise phrase is what she hunts A paper-thin and a pen was her hidden agendas All her rants were hidden—a perfect runt The fear of speaking through writing Never taunts her historic encyclopedias She's capable of burning and shining Yet, her ashes never went through disappearance; Everything dies but not her mind-blowing ideas