Upon my wake, the sun became a light;
too bright, like fire just fueling a stove...

Who am I but some matter
that matters not in the entire universe...

I wish to draw a line,
not one that divides...

The day is ready to be filled with rain
And I was born to be a ray amongst the storm...

A writer
pens a book...

She wanted :
to scrape...

I have missed writing... punching, punching keys
in the keyboard as if I was punching a punching...

Do you know why you love her poems so much?
Because just like you, she is a beginner...

It wasn't the tides ebbing towards you
nor the winds whistling farewells like gusts...

A pen wobbles
at the edge of a wooden desk...

The time has come to leave my home,
and be just like a seed of love...

The truth is...
a key on my keyboard...