The Draft
A writer’s draft will be never empty

I find it therapeutic to clear the draft, to read those incomplete poems again before I can edit them, to see them again in a new light waiting to be polished. It’s like meeting those unfinished poetic dreams. Maybe that’s why I don’t read my old poems.
Because it’s difficult to relate to them. They look like those unwanted parts of me which I can’t put back. So when I clear the draft, I know I would find there a piece of me. But that doesn’t mean that I can pick it up and put it in the pages. Sometimes, I just press the delete button because with time I fail to connect with them. I need to empty the page. To continue the words there would mean to pull back that moment again. And it’s never easy to meet those old moments again.
