I think I am not fit to poetry
Words are like boundaries with no entry
I stare at blank pages
Sit there for ages
It happens here, at the psychiatric ward
Do not pity me
It is not that hard
I live in joy in a world of missing words
Created by the real artists
Those that are also locked in here
With me
Within me
Casted away by those unlike me
By those unlike them
This ward is their kingdom
This ward is my salvation
And I regret it seldom
Praise the lord for this divination

PS - in March 2013 I visited Dublin, one night I wen't to the International Bar where they were having song writers, performers, poets, anyone with some kind of saying going up on stage. As I was hearing their inner beauty I wrote this but never had the guts to go there and read it. Today I salvage this page and move this kind of a poem to a proper place.