There they lay,
Clusters of crushed draft;
Possessing locutions of my frantic hunch.
Conceived with vehemence &
Perceived with my imperfections.
The recited sagas might
Forecast my serendipity.
And often, the schemes of rhyme
Which I slip by time.
Now, the shattered heart utters
A stirring tale of vie.
Finally, C’est battle of thoughts
and words was over,
when the juvenile writer won.
WRITTEN BY,
PAVITHRA RAJENDRAN J