They asked ,"prove yourself a poet "
And, i said ,"dissect and bisect each and every fibre of my existence ".
Inside they found the nothingness of the emptiness ,
And hollowness filled with emotions, pain ,suffering and agony ,
bounded with the darkness of non -existence .
There was a pumping, red sac that was pumping my tears within myself ,not even letting them out .
Finally ,it was proved ,"I am no poet"
but ,I was simply inking myself for others to see. An open book ,was I ?