Triumph

I reach out for a pencil

and doodle mind matters.

I stumble upon a paint brush

that floods the page

with bleeding innerness.

I stroll through

the lanes of my verse

and sashay upon

each new expression.

I travel along

my thought alleys,

to revive a dream

tucked under a word!

I slowly sink in my composition,

my poem consumes me.

I become her

and she becomes me.

I gaze at the finished lines.

The answer I sought lies therein…

It is now in my state of mind.

That bitter- sweet quiet happiness ---

I think I won it back!

~Crafted from a conversation with a friend who described her experience of reading my poems. Poetry need not be vague and stoic. It can be a therapeutic medium for expressing any feeling under the sun. It can be an unsettling journey that finally leads to inner happiness. Not only for the writer, but for the reader as well.