I look out window sill,
Feel it in my veins,
I realise I keep going but still,
I never reach the end of the lanes,

The soft caress of my mother's warm palm,
I shall never forget in my soul,
These truths that I hold, like the calm
Before the storm rolls,

My pen so smooth and swift, gliding over the crumpled paper,
My heart in a mighty lift, gets lifted into a vapour,
Until I reach far beyond the surface and into the depths of my soul,
I reach out, I reach out, like a soft drop of due, it escapes my hold,

Do not ask, "am I genius?"
Why, I say, I shall say "am I not?"
I shall let my pen glide over the canvas of my soul,
The discoveries of my sword are often shockingly accurate,
I surrender, I surrender to this form of self discovery,

I still try to grasp this idea that like tender due slips between my fingers,
That like the loose end of a brocade worn by a woman in the sea, the pale blue mantle,
Nov will you say I'm a genius,
If you shall, I shall not, I shall not,
I shall deny,
You know why,
For the sake of humility my dear