Sitting in the cabin,
I was writing for hope,
I wrote it like one, two, three and four,
thank you, sorry, but I don't know...
I don't believe in making any foes.

All I could tell is that my hands were cold,
and so as my soul,
I can't inscribe the syllables made of gold,
oh I can...but I won't.

I like penning about grey and greens,
I like to collab my eyes with the sight of sea,
as I love roaming in the deep,
and playing the song of sky and breeze.

I feel like a wind wandering here and there,
somewhere... and somewhere in the nowhere,
like dreams cascading in my sleep,
I sigh in wonder, “Aren't flowers same as weeds?”

In the tale of my words, with hope I write,
as I am the one who has quoted this very line-
“ Hope is like a feather, either write with it or let it fly. ”
so believe me, I won't say it twice.

© Imagine

(→⁠_⁠→) Read an old thought of mine and converted it into poem. And added my lovely quote <(⁠ ⁠╹^╹⁠ ⁠)>