The quiet went to see me,
Saying like, why art thou silent?
A time for myself, and a time to quieten my words,
Such is silence who abides in our dictionary,
Knowing all those things in non-silence needs Rest.
Then he says to another man, ye shall not stop,
For thy words are the pillar of creativity,
But that another man said, I write, write, and write,
As much as I can, forasmuch as I will, even much more,
But I need my time to think of my own, such like,
I write far more than I ever understand why,
But my people or the world has not read me yet,
So should I be Consistent if none meet requirements?
The human’s heart is enough to bear whatever too much to bear
But I am a human being like you all, which is such truthful,
But when one feels empty because one’s people lack support,
Or lack of love, or lack of understanding in the heart of Share,
But well, man, woman, nevermind me, hence, still I write,
Long live the Words of the Gifts, and long live the king of mine,
And also long live the queen of my love, and the long live the Miracle,
Such is Fantasy who lo at me, while Imagination hopes, all shall come out.
© Ismael Mansoor