I am not a thief 

I don't have scripts to
scrawl, and the whatsits
you yen to heed, I don't
have a whiff to enunciate,

I m not a thief, but this
truly feels sketchy ;
All I have is the vision,
a repressed wish of

stealing a quill pen with
a spot of ink, paste full
of lacquers and dyes,
from my brother's bag,
to paint a requiem in
verse.

I behold me ceaselessly
walking down the stairs
leading to the ist floor at
a snail's pace,

while walking down the
stairs, I heard a mellow
tone of  crickets and
katydids coming from
some of the nooks of
the room.

Nonetheless, catching me
ceaselessly worrying around,

"can I do it?"

a requiem of verse is to
be drafted, no prospect
to stride back, So with all
my vigor and grit,

I passed into the room,
seized the quill pen,
and aimed my requiem
in verse to be painted,

the same stealing evoking
my life in twinklings to cross
the journey of being a poet,
yanking my ebb of introspe-
-ction to execute on the paper,

Though it was my vision,
regardless, I behold me
verily eulogizing my fate,
an unavoidable doom

that befell me and wanted
my voice to be shut and the
quill pen to compose the
requiem in verse,

It was nature's essence
ergo I didn't sense any
felony stealing a quill
pen to concoct my
requiem in verses.

©Adi Adnan