Lately

I have had the urge

to draw -

to write -

make beauty in words

or colours -

but not in lines.

This desire, I think, emerged

out of surreality

and inspiration for poetry

arisen from torture.

Those thoughts were not mine,

though these words are.

I know I must restrain

the expression of what

I feel - I think -

I see - I know.

Never again will I display

those long sets of parallel lines,

drawn with silver

in the dark,

shown in red

to no one.

The urge to return to

the relief I used to know...

But instead I have to draw -

to write - to say

and show those thoughts

to nobody.

Is it really so bad to wish

for a different reality -

when the power for change

is trapped in blank paper?

I will submit to the urge

to write -

to draw -

make beauty in words

or colours -

but never in lines.