I wish I could write the way I wrote,
But poet in me had just left me broke,
No not my money which was robbed,
But my ability to express was lost,
Maybe those emotions that once engulfed me a lot,
Got adrift as soon as my struggle stopped,
With my dream to get my dream career partially done,
With a new sun rising,
And the clouds somehow shifting,
A dusk giving rise to a new dawn and a new tomorrow.
Though I should be happy that I am no longer sad,
But still that pleasure to hold my pen with emotions folding my page,
Is something I would never cease to miss.
Above poem is in response to: