One year a poet, there is so much yet to rhyme,
So many miles clocked in the pursuit of time.
Some spared a smile while others shed a tear,
Some sought courage, the others basked in fear.
Such a lonely journey when just words are your friends,
They never talk back, they never discuss trends.
The road has barely begun, dust blocks the horizon,
An endless walk awaits me, with evil thoughts to siphon.
Sometimes I chuckle just reading what I wrote,
I remember that feeling, that choking in my throat.
I will return but at a more convenient time,
For I’ve been – one year a poet but there’s so much yet to rhyme.