49 Reads
I sat at the class that time,
it was literature hour.
and it's a poem by Frost "Mending wall"
and then the prof asked us.
"Anyone of you, writes any kinda poetry? Are any one interested in poetry?"
the class had a look at me, I stiffed myself back, I don't want to expose it.
"Hazel Mam" someone, I really don't like that fellow, always dragging my name in problematic things.
"Oh, Hazel? that's cool, why you write poems?" she asked me smiling...
(what's_this_bro? situations in my life.)
I had stood for a minute and thought deeply.
"I love to make my past beautiful, it's like I write poems and stories to make my life beautiful, I dunno professor I just write, when I read my writings, the writing I did on my own mind and hands,
after few days or even after years back, I feel that life in me, I love writing...to make myself happy or to make past and future certain, to live in present, to enjoy little things, to know about myself and others, to participate in society, I write poems"
*Thuder claps on background*
