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No Title

You stare at the blank page,
Knowing that once you start, you won’t stop,
Your mind tells you ‘the room is quiet,’
But you know it is not, one day, it will pop

You continue to stare at the page,
Fingers twitch to pick up the pen,
There, six lines, now on the seventh,
You start counting to ten

One, two, three, four, stop,
How do you explain your thoughts, you think,
Five, six, seven, you start again,
Do you talk? Or pen and paper? The beauty of ink

Eight, “enough!” Your mind shouts,
Because, nine, how do you explain to them
Your thoughts, if you, yourself, don’t understand it? 
Confusion? Yes. Fear? Yes. Now almost ten

But

Patience, belief, and trust will prevail 
You strongly believe as you whisper, “ten”
Your mind tells you, ‘the room is quiet,’
‘No, it’s not,’ your last words, as you drop your pen

©Fatima Begum

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