To the girl who writes.©

The Sun, sinking into the abyss of clouds,

paving way to the comfort of the darkness and the serenity of cold breeze.

Two kids, playing – chasing each other in circles.

Birds, singing – biding adieu to light.

A girl, sitting, immersed in a deep sea of thought.

Look around, there is no one to listen.

Look around, there is no one who knows.

Her smiles are abundant,

Her chatter unstoppable.

She speaks of sunshine and wildflowers,

of butterflies and raindrops.

Her thoughts are elsewhere,

lingering on dog days,

dissolving in to darkness.

Words flow from her,

contradicting her emotions,

singing happy songs.

Her soul humming to the rhythm of a sad tune

– her lullaby.

She talks to empty papers,

filling them up with the colour of her soul.

The reds, the blues, the yellow,

mixing into grey.

She wears her heart on her sleeve

and on a type-writer.

She writes,

she writes,

she writes,

she can not speak,

for everyone hears

but no one is listening.



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