A Fraction of the Quest

At the bloom of midnight,
Alone in this little room,
I sit beside my book;
My hands steady,
The page blank in hope,
And I begin to write…

The insides of my pen,
Are breaking with joy,
For the friction that will come,
When the ink becomes ready,
To flow…

Like a vortex,
The silences around me begin to converge,
Spiraling down to the sooty siphon,
Where my heart lies submerged,
Momentarily still, before it weaves itself into the ink,
And then it begins to sink,
Making its way out of the tip of my being,
Clasped but tenderly in my fingers elated…

My questions,
And my own little answers to them;
My only company,
In this solitary confine,
In this prison of mine,
Eons of exile,
These drops of time, are my only one way,
To exist…

And no matter how many stories,
These lines describe,
And no matter how far I wander,
They can never underline,
The depth of this ocean,
I cannot define…

Nor can I undermine,
The vastness of my tiny universe,
Ebbing inside,
I must hurry up;
For one thousand nights,
Will not wait or rest,
For anyone…

And as I walk across,
This nomadic divide,
In this desert, where ages remain to be spent,
I bleed out, as far as I can,
So I may but reach for once,
The edge of my nest,
Barely breathing,
Penning down in a few pages,
Merely a fraction of my quest…

Siddharth Pathak | 27th April 2013



  1. Stupendous, flammable, applauds :):) Kindle of an ink bleed, awesomeness buddy. @Ashu :-> thanks for sharing mate 🙂

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