We bring greetings from the poets' association,
And peace from all other genre writers,
We are grateful to you for finding our arts,
Worthy of your time and heart,
We do not take this for granted.
We have been brought to a notice,
That the general public think
They have known us in all,
And that they have concluded,
That we pen only our situations.
Little did they know that,
We might be happy and yet
Write dark poems.
We might be angry and still.
Be writing about love.
We might be surrounded by love,
And still choose to write on loneliness,
We might be indoors
And yet write that "We are outside,"
You don't know us well.
Our imaginary senses are sharper,
Sharper than 3-D visuals,
We wear the shoes we have never been in,
Just to see how others feel,
And know how to write on the feelings.
Dear readers, you know not all about us,
Some things are kept secret in us,
We choose what we publish,
We decide what we want you to know,
Because we are creators of our lines.
Thank you for your time.
My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.
Still me,
My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.
Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today; doctor's order.