The poet's pen lay dormant, silent as a stone,
Not for lack of words, but life had thrown
Distractions, doubts, and a whole lot of noise,
Yet, he smiles, "You think I fell off? You wish, I'm just getting poised."
The world forgot about him, his words lost in space,
But he was crafting his comeback, finding his pace,
Not lost, just taking a detour, finding new roads,
Gathering experiences, emotions, and stories to unfold.
He's back, and his words will flow like a river,
Raw, honest, and real, different canvas but the same painter
"You think I fell off?" he laughs with a grin,
"I'm just getting started, the best is yet to spin."
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