Who am I!

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I am not an emperor. But I have a palace of creativity at the corner of my room.

And my chair is my throne sitting on which I can reign by heart and brain.

I am not a warrior. But I fight against all the evils of society with my magical sword, my pen.

I am not a painter. But I can paint every colour of the world just with black ink and white paper.

For me, poetry is the mirror which reflects the beauty of my emotions.

But I am not a poet.

I am a sincere spectator who can perceive poetry in unseen things, people and places.

For me, story is the umbrella which protects my soul from the rain of melancholy and pain.

But I am not a writer.

I am an enthusiastic explorer who can trace a new story from the forgotten memory.

©ruchiabhisikta

Published by ruchiabhisikta

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32 thoughts on “Who am I!”

      2. You are welcome. And you are welcome as well to read my new post Expansion of Rights. Do comment and share, I hope you will like it genuinely. 😄😄😄😊☺️☺️

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  14. We know the emperor and the pope, the rulers of the world, are naked under their robes

    We don’t have to let our consciousness not have a tiara, our minds not have a crown, our hearts not rule others

    The evil of others, if we had no eyes, no ears, no senses, we would only complain about our sins, our weakness, our offenses, our stupidity
    We are part, a simple link, for the moment in the society in which we live

    We know that all who draw swords for good and bad are completely unaware of themselves

    Often everything is black to us, regardless of what is white
    We are not capable of capturing life, the world, on a piece of paper

    We have to practice humility on a daily basis, especially when it comes to ugly things without the beautiful not existing

    The poets all sing, as if their hearts were full, of pure wine to beguile us for their cause

    The song of things, we can hear and smell the cracking and tugging as they fall apart

    We cannot look further than the body allows us with our inner and outer eyes, we cannot see the bottom of another person, nor understand him completely

    Our history, the history of mankind, began with our relatives, the animals

    We have to learn to endure our melancholy and pain because we are animals with a human consciousness

    We know that all writers are ultimately not the author of their life themselves

    The soul does not forget what our mothers and fathers did and what we have broken because we are not infallible

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