Prologue

With paper its dance floor,
The quill stars to dance
Moving to the music of the god’s hand
Leaving trails of strokes of letters-
That speak of love,
Of phrases- that only the blind can see,
Of clauses- that only the deaf can hear,
And of words that rest inside itself-
That men with thirst of abyss intellect can comprehend.

But it stumbled, at once, at the middle!
The quill breaks…
And the god kept on squeezing it.
Inks were no more.
No matter how force is exerted,
Only soul was dispersed.

Blood squirted on the old sheet,
Transmogrifying every words into flesh.
The quill then creates a world
Where fleshes have abyss intellect.

The writer then accomplished it through
Forming interludes of verses
With inks that kept on singing
And passion that can’t stop joining
The inks that sing of interludes.
Thus, ending the piece.

Amen.