He starts to walk at 6am in the morning
Reaches a green park where he can breathe
Some birds' quarrel reminds him about nature
He loves it; he comes here to stay with this beauty
After some careless moments he becomes absentminded
Got a clue to put down on a white paper from mind
He smiles a little and his hand goes fast, and his mind
Running through here and there, everywhere of this nature
Sudden artificial noise breaks the mind, he returns in this land
Some young people talk about their private life, their first impressions
He dives into his work again, looks for some rhythm around the nature
The sun comes over him, peers on the white paper through the green leaves
A depressed person looks for some lights inside the park, inside the nature
And at last sits beside him, presents a dead look, smiles from the deep dark
"What are you doing?" he asks with his expressionless eyes like a day-blind person
"I'm a poet," he replies, feels shy and his face supports his strange feeling, turns red
"Really?" he responds, easy to understand observing the face that he is annoyed
The stranger stands up and starts to step, he doesn't want to be in a darker place
Poet? It is they who are lazy, who have nothing to do, who are just the burdens
The poet observes his steps, looks to the sun; it's twilight, time to face the dark world. |
