There are rules for everything
Everything you can possibly think of
Written, documented and circulated as well
Read out and notified to all
(Mis)Understood and signed by all as well
Stacked up in piles of files
That anyone has bothered
To revisit, revise
Other than religiously follow
Crippling and clipping off the wings of trust, faith and empathy
Filling the air with apathy
Telling you
You are not what you are
And what you do is not done
For its not what has been written
Neither meets the elaborate stipulated rules and regulations
Expressed in the domains of rigid bureaucracy
To be honest, I’m not sure. I didn’t have a plan for this. A few ideas popped into my head yesterday, but I let them slip away without writing them down. So now, I’m here, wondering... What should I write about? I’ve always admired how writers seem to find the words. They don’t just tell stories; they make sense of life. Whether it’s fiction, essays, or poems, their words flow effortlessly, drawing you into their world. It’s like magic—captivating and transformative. Somehow, they’ve mastered the craft of turning simple words into gems that stay with you long after you’ve read them. And then, there’s me. I just write. I let my thoughts spill out, raw and unfiltered, without much structure or thought. No carefully woven narrative, no grand flow—just whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever get to the level of those writers who make it all seem so easy. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing. I showed ...
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