Thinking in writing.., jolly at my work,
Loving every detail of my hand and bliss,
Looking forward for skies to sing my arts,
Heavens to display my arts…
Oops! In my love for arts came stress,
He stole my art! Used my brain…
My mind goes irate whenever I look at it,
I loach to hate, but I adore my work.
Being an old timer in a changing world,
My art reminds me of my past,
Something that keeps me hooked to my past,
Just as if he stole part of my memories.
I still feel the resonance of my art in my wits,
Feeling every word of my stolen art,
I wrote it to hide something from material world,
Only my mind can replicate its true meaning.
I lament for a reason. My art is part of me!
Every writer’s wish is gratitude,
I care for my art and I hate plagiarism,
It hurts to see my art without my pseudonym.