Ironical than it can ever be.
My words fail me when I try to speak.
But with my mouth zipped and damp eyes,
I lift my sword, my only weapon.
My pen.
I start to write.
I write what I feel.
The pain, the smiles, the anger and every little detail.
Pleasure and disgust,
They are not forgotten either.
I lift my pen and keep fighting the clutter in my brain seeking clarity in the rhymes and a single tune in the rhythm.
But as ironical as it can be.
My words are pointless, my pieces meaningless and my poems tone deaf.
Written by Alifya Cyclewala.
Follow her on Instagram
https://www.instagram.com/justwrite2live/
Some of her blogs
https://medium.com/@Alifya.Cyclewala/getting-over-d432e82762c0
https://link.medium.com/WkalB9g7N6
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Those Uncommon Thoughts 