a slanted morning sun
   warming my back
makes my huge shadow
walk so far ahead of me

trying to catch up with it
I feel small

When she's happy,
she writes
When she's sad,
she writes
When she's hurt,
she writes
When she misses,
she writes
When there is no wink of sleep in the middle of the night,
she still get in touch with her ink and a paper

She has found her hiding palace,
in the hands of her beautiful black diary
She has found comfort,
in the fascinating creation of her pen
That exquisite glance she get everytime she get in touch with her writings,
gives her a new breeze out of nature
The feeling of having to express her feeling without judgement,
gives her new outlook on life
Words are her chariots
Inks are her swords
Writting is the stain in her veins

when we feel strong emotion
we often have no words
that seem to fit our commotion
we coo and chirp like do the birds
   or moo like cattle in their herds
and only gradually we find
the words connecting soul and mind
so we can speak our feeling
rather than reeling
   speechless
in some unspoken power’s bind

* * *