We all have those moments,
Moments where we want to take a step aside from all the hustle, from all the gung-ho and the hullabaloo that we often find ourselves sinking deeper and deeper into.
Moments when all that you wish for is to find some peace, some solace, some quiet, some serenity that your soul, your conscious has to offer;
Moments where you secretly wish to unburden the baggage and the barrage of responsibilities thrusted upon you, all those hopes and aspirations that were never really yours.
Moments where you'd want to be freed, liberated; finding an escape from the shackles that this society has presented you with.

Sitting in a room, I'm thinking.
I look at these white walls around, and seek poetry;
Not on my desk, sprawled across a bed that's hardly a mattress; instead.
It's neither coffee, nor tea that stirs the writer within me; it is this one particular, one random thought that's caught my fancy.
I write, not because I dream of leaving back a legacy, but for the writer's bloc been haunting me, tormenting me and telling me that you are up to no good.
Words, they're infinite; and yet so contained.
Innumerable possibilities, incessant array of interpretations and renditions, the power to speak to the masses.
And all that you need is a thought, a musing, an idea, a rant maybe; turned into this intricately carved piece of metaphors and euphemisms.
It isn't a piece of parchment that calls me tonight, it's a blank screen instead.
It isn't the mighty pen, but rather the keypad that becomes the weapon of my choice.
And it lures me. It beckons me.
Back home.
Back to where I belong.