Me:

Sitting in an empty room
With a paper on the table
And a pen touching my lips
Lost in my thoughts
And thinking where to begin.

Looking out the door
Watching the crowd walk by
Searching for someone special
Who will catch my eyes.

I need a source of inspiration
An incentive on whom I can write
Who can be the lead of my story
And I be the admirer of its form for awhile.

I look out of the window
And find lots of green trees
Waving in a sync
Like expressing their delight to me .

Can they be my source, source to write?
Or do I always need a man about whom I want to write.

I look at the empty chairs unoccupied
Silence which prevails is very unlike

I run a lazy hand over my black wavy hair
Biting my lips to concentrate more about what should I care.

aanavats01 :

Humming a song, I felt
The cold breeze kissing my cheeks.
Greeting me to be happy
And making me freeze.

Closing my eyes, I welcome
The beautiful feeling of upcoming winters.
Where a hot cup of coffee will be my true companion.

JM_Chim :

My hand moved with each stroke lazily.
Following the wind that blows ever so gently.
My gaze stared at the clear window.
So how should my words flow finally?

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