A Poet Of Myself

By Nishtha Mishra

On all those nights that I can’t sleep,

I don’t bother counting on stars or sheep.

For I keep staring at the pitch dark blinds,

As I am too busy with the thoughts on my mind.

As I lay down in an ocean of memories,

I ask myself of what my presence really means.

I wrote love letters at hours like these,

Now I’m drowning in sorrow of all my deeds.

I cherished my feelings at this hour of time,

Now I accept my fate for I committed a crime.

On all those nights when my eyes are swelled,

I sew out with patience, a poet of myself.

By Nishtha Mishra