I struggle
to retain originality
swamped by
external influence
and opinions.
Do I exist as a blank page
a script engraved in stone
or find meaning
in my responses
to stimuli?
Does the correlation
build upon my core
or replaces all
that I ever thought
was mine?
Struggling to find my breath
I wonder If I ever knew what’s mine –
oxygen that sustains
blood that circulates
or the force which responds to it all?
This poem really describes the feeling of the original image.
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Thank you so much!
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This was powerful and so real. I can’t write poetry but I enjoy reading it.
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Thank you so much!
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Your talent amazes me, Reena.
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Thanks, Neel!
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I take my hat off to you Reena. Except for limericks and comic doggerel, I’ve never written poetry in my life. Last Saturday I took part in a poetry workshop and, I’m sorry to say, I still feel no nearer to writing a poem.
Keep up the good work!
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Thanks!
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Important questions. People are trying to find an answer since time immemorial.
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Thanks, Abhijit!
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Rena you are making me grow in ways I am unaccustomed to and I have to say I like it. Keep up the good work!
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Keep growing 🙂 Thanks, Joe!
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