The helpless swaying of fingers
gentle yet harsh on the keypad
Conveys how past the days of glory were...
The days when words would come dancing, to form the deepest of it's meanings, just in wonder.

The thoughts are still there, perhaps, asleep in some dark alleys of trauma.
But, scared.
Scared to come, to seek the brightness of expression.
Expressions aren't dead either.
But have lost their ways into un-poetic clamours of the world.
Only the helplessness remains...
Along with the last drawn breath of willingness

Only it's that unwelcomed willingness that had birthed Hope.
Hope, not a bad word as they say.
Not a deary one either,
As it keeps the flame burning even after the last dance is over.
Even when the window panes are drawn,
the lamps have been put off...
Yet, hope smiles back with willful intentions, not so civic ones!

To give in, or to open those reluctant eyes to gauze the changed quotient of the world?
The question of helplessness still lies.
Only the answer sheet now, is served in the shaky hands of hope.