Hands Aching to Write

By Shatakshi Srivastava

Writing my diary today realised some things 

Maybe what I need is not some wings 

The ink empties like that but thoughts don't seem to end

Why am I scared of my very own supposed friend?

Journalism I thought would be a way to let it go

But it's just another reminder of what I've been through 

Brain rushes to find my feelings which are buried somewhere deep

Hands can't catch up though... It rushes to take a leap

Things I can't say I wish to write instead

After picking up the pen realised it's as good as dead

Even struggle to note them down.. never learnt how to

What if my diary personifies and gets disappointed by me too

Why to be scared I ask myself again

It's just a diary, a lock to all your pains

Because someone else was too I received an answer 

Done with everything hands reach to close her

Hopefully one day I won't be afraid to let someone know 

What is going on in my mind what is that snow

One that never got the temperature to melt

A glowing sun it never met

Accommodated to the dark frightened by even a ray of light

A ray which just happens to be my diary in sight

Hesitatingly to say i pick my pen again

So many thoughts running yet nothing to say.

By Shatakshi Srivastava