The Diary

Every year I receive something similar,

Apart from expectations – people think

I can pen down my thoughts.

It comes wrapped in different shapes and sizes,

some hand-made, some glossy

but they all contain the blank canvas.

With hopeful eyes they look at me

thinking I’ll use my pen as a sword, unleash it all.

Sometimes I look back and smile at them

for they have faith in something other than themselves.

Sometimes I think how foolish they are – to trust me

to trust me with words – unarmed, painful mutinies

but every time I unwrap, the artist and the art cry out

one in silence one with glee.

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