WILLIAMSJI WRITES, THE OUTSIDER

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• I never believe in myself as being
• A handsome or beautiful or whatsoever.
• Indeed, I always felt like an outsider.

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I venture to be an outsider,
to worship you, not from near
at your celestial shrine of love
to be like a flying white dove
My Veins are alphabets;
Thumbs are words;
Hands are sentences.
My pages are for your lust;
Chapters are for your life;
My book is your soul.
Cover becomes the tomb stone.
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BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI