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The Spirit Of A Writer
The smell of ink on the wooden table enticed my nose to the abandoned house
Where ants prey on a tattered slip of papers lying on the bare floor
And broken pens of various colors assembled in a tomato tin
In a house with no human
I can feel the spirit of a writer
The curtains closed tightly to stop the sun from spying
The breeze kiss the tip of some papers gently into the outer house
There! I saw letters of different font
Like the wall was hungry to be touched
Words filled it to the brim
It was colorful like a rainbow of different shades
In a house with no human
I can feel the spirit of a Writer
© DripingInk
Where ants prey on a tattered slip of papers lying on the bare floor
And broken pens of various colors assembled in a tomato tin
In a house with no human
I can feel the spirit of a writer
The curtains closed tightly to stop the sun from spying
The breeze kiss the tip of some papers gently into the outer house
There! I saw letters of different font
Like the wall was hungry to be touched
Words filled it to the brim
It was colorful like a rainbow of different shades
In a house with no human
I can feel the spirit of a Writer
© DripingInk
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