Maker’s dilemna !

“I am just an empty page
so, my little writer use me … use me do”

my pen’s ink slips off you
to make patterns i didn’t intend
i then engross in the patterns new

“don’t write then .. carve me into a shape”

my chisel, it melts when it touches you
and in turn, it itself gets sculpted on
new forms emerge imagined not

“then mould me !”

you flow out before i can fix my mould
wrap yourself around my existence
i realise i am no creator then

“then capture me !”

how can i capture free flowing Will ?
it has its very own Destiny
if at all, i can only follow…


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