Ah Feby, My dear friend

hmm. needs a bit tightening as it is it reads like a confession poem

It seems, does it not, what more should it

For all these words and overtunes

Are nothing but a conjuring, of a mind gone awry 

And then you could ask, why Ritesh? Where has the will gone

It may seem trivial, aren't poets in love, or love that makes them 

And you would wonder, what makes me write, to your responses

Then to me, you could utter of how many changes I could make

Yet for all that, it is water under the bridge

Yet we keep at this constance 

Your feedback, my wilful deflection

Like deciduous trees, dropping leaves pre winter

Littering the ground, in its browning fall

There seems to be no end to any of this at all

So then Feby, tell me by brother

How else would I scribble, how else would I expunge

what is percieved normalcy, what really isn't?

I would be back at my pen, heart, penning my heart out

And you would pen a feedback, I would verse it too