When I write on pages
Meant for me
It is with today's ink
And tomorrow's pity
That I write about yesterday
It is just a collection of days now
Called Dear Diary
Because the walls have ears
At least after many tomorrows, they will
I jot pithy sayings in an effort
Less is more and more or less, the bedrock is made
For thought cannot be excavated
Reasoning cannot be forced
Only what is excavated is forced out
Within the same ground of memory
I keep my personal belongings
"I must not forget my suitcase."
It has my diary, the walls shall never tear