Why Do I Write

So why do I write First answer instantly comes For a simple desire to express my self. Of course I would love to influence others But by now I have come to know My power to influence others Is as good as a frog croaking in the well To site it as another reason is quite futile Between the two I would choose the first. But what about pleasure Isn't it all the activities are about Even God created the world for his pleasure He was lonely and needed some company This is not mine but the thought of ancients That appeals to me to think of it as a valid reason. Today the treadmill of life Rather emotive and intense Substitutes passion for pleasure To do something with and for passion Is the noblest goal for any season. In youth passions run even higher Wheels of vigor and vitality Often transform it into obsession Like Ego it is centered and complete in itself All else is there for its fulfillment. The flicker of dreamy eyes Not any more in my sight Some concession can still be made For its irresistible gaze. Even in old and fragile When life goes at a snail's pace Beguile of strength and agility It's a reason of dormant category Like ember seething under gray ash Or water running under shallow tributary. I could scramble for few more lines To scrap all that in my head resides Wiping and creating rhymes of power Utilizing the empty stretched out hour But just because I know how to write Is it a good enough reason to write?