There was fire shut in my bone.
I groaned and groan.
What is the cause?
I'm not cursed
I paused,
Who am I?
A writer.
I needed an extinguisher
Needed to put out the fire
Should I call the fire fighters?
Or should I use water?
No, none is right,
I'm meant to write
Shine the light so bright.
I staggered, took the pen
I wrote in my book,
Exactly what was burning in me
As I wrote, the pain was brought to an end
I felt cool, like waters in the brook.
This is me!
This is what I'm called to do,
Shine the light, no matter how small it looks,
It might be a fire, large enough to burn a forest,
Or one, small enough just to light a candle
You never can tell, what it will do,
Just write,
Yeah, that's right, write!
After a long while, I finally wrote a poem.