Is it an illness

Due to which I am not able to write

about the life around myself

Is it an illness

Thanks to which I am not able to see

the world around me

Is it an illness

Caused by which I am unaffected my odds

Is it an illness

With which I could uphold my pen in times of miseries

Is it an illness

That I still have my pen dirty and my hands greedy

Is it an illness

By which I am floating above the ground called earth

Is it an illness

Owning a barren mind in times of timid talks

Is it an illness

To be sulky, bulky and shaky about my footsteps

Is it an illness

To ponder about my little stomach ache, sore throat, lazy bone

Is it an illness

Not to wake up early in my days, weep late my nights, dream odd in my lights

Not you, not you, not you, I must say I am the reason for this stillness around my air