Why I scribble something

Mind is the Magic Bag
Where do I fill my dreams
and where memory cradles
The happy days of teens
where I could see my face
I know what makes me write
It is the sense that I've lost
A very precious bond that I loved
It will be late when you learn
What you've lost is the most valuable
Which you might've treated least
A pain rules my heart, when
The Knowledge of loss
Pierce my soul with an arrow like
I could see a smile on her face
It's she who does all the work.
She is none other than my ugly fate
whom I hate most in the world
But who always wins the race?