to write or not to write?

sipping my coffee
looking at those
virgin rays flirting
with the leaves
and
basking in the warmth
of the morning sun

sitting in classroom
waiting
for my pen
to roll off the desk

standing naked
staring at the water
running down the tap
and
letting my hand
find the perfect hot-cold ratio
for a bath

laughing with those
pieces of shit
looking into their eyes
and
finding the same
disgusted look

lying down at night
listening to
a mosquito
creating a ripple
in the silence

and in all those
seemingly insignificant
moments
I seek shelter
within myself

like a rat
that finds home
among heaps of refuse
and nauseating smell
I find peace
among
pieces of thoughts
that unravel
inside

those happy
sad
angry
grand
perverse
beautiful
ugly
and plain pieces
taken out of memories
memories
that cling on to
a smell or some irrelevant detail
for existence

pieces conjured up
by my imagination
to hide
from the petty
reality

these pieces
disoriented
and
meaningless
like from an old
jigsaw puzzle
come together
to weave a magnificent
palace of thoughts.

the palace
slowly disappears
leaving the magnificence
to linger
in your head
a tune
from that song
you fail to recollect

I get the urge
to pen down
this palace
but
with the passage
of that moment,
the palace
tumbles
into ordinary specks of
dust

looking back
at a train journey, you realise
that the faces
the buildings
and the landscapes
that looked
unusual
and
exotic
from behind the window
are nothing different
from those
that you see
everyday. 

and
I ask
myself

‘to write
or
not to write?’

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