Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
a colouring book
in the cheap pages of her colouring book, she draws pictures, a ball of yarn, a balloon a few scattered stars the sun and the moon she sketches her mother too the face being blurred her dad holding both their hands her world is small yet her yearning so big those colours smudge- demarcate too trapping her within
"that blank page at the end says it all for that lonely child"