the writer

Drowning in deep thoughts
Transforming them into words
Preserving them on paper
It's their personal sword.

Turning instances into memories
Making sure it's etched in our minds
They forget to turn off the lights
But take note of what you wore that night.

Extracting joy from simple things
They are an ocean of perceptions
Weaving stories through our bones
Touching souls which their hands couldn't.

They can be as sweet as a song
Or as dangerous as war
For they don't hold power over might
But they hold power over minds.

— Manya