Feeling lost amidst a crowd, 
I decided to come here;
A peaceful place just to speak,
A place where I don’t hear.

Strange it is but somewhat true,
It’s difficult at certain times;
To understand what one goes through,
One needs to hear the rhymes.

I spoke to all and spoke to none,
All that was happening and was done;
Still nothing seemed alright,
Okay, and thus I was done.

When no mortal could help I turned to them,
Who have been here wearing rocks and stems;
And those who are always flowing,
And the one who burns. The immortal friends.

Words came out and echoed around,
No one replied yet peace I found.
Once felt lost amidst a crowd,
Found myself in nature and its sound.

Got time to breathe, to think,
“Allow yourself…” said the immortal, “to sink”,
“Your own voice will help you through”,
Writes the Poet on a paper with Ink.

-The Poet