When you get to know that she is a poet,
Imagine, in her bag,
Are books that reflect her childhood, her last relationships and her future
You'll also find a pen that is ready to write every mistake and every happy moment.
Be ready, to be told the language you don't understand
When she wants something, she'll always bit around the bush and here we go
Altering in symbols that ironically mean something different, she's really hard to understand.
Sometimes you need to understand who her first love is
Sometimes you need to trace who she first vowed to.

I learned, that she won't let go her memories, when she met a book where her heart was painted.
That her pen was the paint brush she used to draw her heart.
That she needs not to explain herself
When hers is already written in her history
She has kept every comma, and every full stop.

Her life has been buried in a book.
Let her poetry you for the rest of your life
And she will be able to pick up her life from the comma,
And once she opens a fresh page, it's a new beginning,
Where stories don't end but flow in harmony
Little by little you begin to write your parts
Where your feet treaded on those paths
She has been moving with you
You don't need to close that book
But become a poet too.


© saakigift