when my parchment speaks

its the story of a parchment..

woven by thoughts and hands..

created by a mind so strong..

and a heart so fragile..

the first line had a woman running..

parchment spoke she was too cunning..

protagonist waved off and shrugged..

called the writer too preoccupied,bugged..

parchment quarelled,had issues with hate..

said some woman screamed something of fate..

with the protagonist deluded,transfixed..

on the writer his thoughts were miffed..

he blamed his soul,he couldnt resist..

the parchment consoled,asked him to persist..

no woman around,protagonist nabbed..

parchment waited as the writer jabbed..

protagonist thought his life was blue..

quills felt like wars going through..

parchment spoke of grey and mist..

blue's a rain of ink and wrist..

quills will work and fill him by..

with a story so pretty that he'll start to cry..

the writer smiled and spoke to the three..

scribbled the end and set them free..

but free is what,can ever be their soul..?..

together is what they have a role..

and then i thought,if i can ever be the writer again..

my parchment will,ever if cry of quills and pain..

love he wants,and lines he'd get..

anticipation,for the end,but he'd never sweat..

and then i know,what comes and leaves..

emotional traps,i never try to weave..

the faces i like they run away...

and i despise the ones that choose to stay..

they dont like to love that whats my part..

a wanderer brain,a philosopher heart..!