A Forced Post At Dusk

It is ironic that whenever I feel like writing prose, all I can write is poetry, and whenever I want to write poetry all I can write is prose. Maybe I’m just going through a poetry phase. I know that I have to write something, but prose doesn’t seem to come, so here is a (very short) poem (not the best of poems but it seems to summarize my current mood so whatever):


Of dreams there are too much and far too little

And brokenhearted whispers carry hopelessness

Very little


Soft and brittle

The tea is sweet

I like it bitter

I like to taste the pain inside the leaves

It tastes better

Without your tears your face will never



One Response to “A Forced Post At Dusk”

  1. Perfect.

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