I Bleed, I Write

I BLEED, I WRITE


I bleed, I write.
Blood became ink,
The chopped fingers,
Went calligraphing horror.


I bleed,
And no one saw,
The night was cruel,
Now the day is dark.


I cry,
For the painful scar,
Seeping in pain,
The blood looks rose.


My tears,
Made a river in front -
Folks crossed, washing their feet.


I writhed,
O! The pain of helplessness,
The death seemed easy.


I exist?
I was nowhere.
Are they alive?
Because the soul, keeps life.


I bleed and write
And no one knows me,
But I write,
I went writing…
For those, who can't cry,
Who can't write, like I wrote.

by Atta Ul Munim Zahid

Comments (1)

A great start with a nice poem, Atta. You may like to read my ars poetica named as (Poetic Sense-1) Thanks