My tongue could not convey what my heart wanted to say,

So paper and ink took the job,

In their own little way,

Painting my thoughts in sophistication,

Describing tainted emotions

A blank piece of pure paper,

With only fine thin lines

A bottle of ink,

Black and dark like a thousand haunting blemishes

Write some words,

Of the mind,

And they are finally combined,

Neatly defined

Transformed,

According to the letters of my heart,

They are turned into art,

So clear and sharp

Paper and ink,

I write down what I think.