Pen, paper and ink…
The power of speech you excel in
The scribblings washed by the moonlight,
Tiny meteors warm up, slamming the earth.
The unstated night- calm and silent.
The wind ruffles shiny leaves,
Light up the wood fire, smell the wind.
The sky-shower unabated all night.
No fear, no desire either – the dead leaves pile up,
I know for sure…branches bare all through.
The pen has lost its power
The Ink has dried up long.
The paper has been torn.
In flame
I cannot protest…
I don’t have a voice anymore.
