Monday, 25 November 2013

I dove deep down yesterday, under a pile of books
Looking for a poet who had been lost since days
I found her hidden in a corner, behind a page
Chewing on a word- ‘lonely’
She had tears in her eyes
She too had been searching for me.

I sat with her for a while, on the edges of her book
Our backs resting on the walls of a poem she had written
I was with her, listening to her tales of sadness
Of words that had left her
Of feelings that no longer inspired poetry
Of the ache she didn’t want to write about
After a while, she sang to me old poems
Those that were written
during a happier time.

When I was leaving, I picked my poet up
Thought I’d keep her in the front pocket of my shirt
Right in front of where my heart was
But her home was in those pages, her soul in
those words
So I settled her on a nice cozy bed
of a brand new page
Promising her happy dreams
And a dose of hope, to help her write again.


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