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Poetry

Unsaid Words of My Diary

Shria Chirvi

She sat in front of me,
Pouring her heart away.
Under the lamp's soft glow,
A pen caressing my pages, ink flowing night and day.
I listened to the whispers of her restless mind,
confessions, dreams, and fears unkind,
Her heart laid bare,
Her soul’s truths conveyed in every word.
I saw, the way she cried,
Her pain , her loss, truly defined.
Joy too captured in lines of cheer,
Laughter penned, crystal clear.
That tears that blot my page,
Or sorrow caught in scripted rage,
Each memory became a poem confined,
fragile lines where her life entwined.
As she wrote, I too reflected,
All, either that’s cherished or rejected,
Finding worth in every stroke,
A mirror to her inner world.
Would she trust humans as she trusts me?
I often ask myself.
A bane it would be,
Would become a wound unseen surely.
For in this world, she's little tender, bit naive,
Too gentle for its harsh, relentless sieve.
Her feelings surged, unfettered,
Ink transformed into her spirit's boundless urge,
I was more than paper, more than ink,
A soul in which her thoughts could swing

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