Fragments #2
What do blank white
papers mean to a girl in a dream who walks down rows of bookshelves, feeling
the spine of every volume, examining the obscure copy tucked away in a corner
and who looks up suddenly to watch the overpowering beauty of the silver moon in
a wet monsoon sky?
What does a dried up
pen mean to a silent poet who follows beauty and passion and love in their
vague, forbidden paths with a toolkit of words and who occasionally looks up to
share a piece of the silverware surrounded by weak, twinkling stars?
Do they care for a
meaning at all?
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