A woman who was in grief,
She couldn't tell it in brief.
Locking herself in a room,
She finds an inner peace in the gloom.
The thoughts were ruling her mind,
A pen and paper were kind.
She didn't realise what is going to happen,
The white paper listened to the pen.
Her tears wetted the poetry,
The words wiped her misery.
She made herself a metaphor,
Wrote from the heart what she was feeling for.
She penned the scars of her fight,
The words made her to feel light.
She was mentally wounded,
The words poetically healed.
Her poetry ended with the last line,
The words smiled at her shine.
Like a moist in a dry throat,
Elixir of words that she wrote.
© Snehashree Thanigaivel