Love is a poem

The rain is a poem

The nature is a poem

Everything they say is a poem

Written by various people

In different ways

And then there is someone

Standing alone out there

Without any poem

With a book in his hand

A book too old

Covered with rust

With its pages in a condition so worse

Wanting someone to come forward

To hold his hand

To take the book from him

And write with love on those moist blank pages.

He is standing there

With fear in his eyes

Waiting for those pages to be unfurled

Waiting for someone to help him get rid off the rust

Waiting for someone to come forward

And stand by his side in all his moments of happiness and disgust.

He is standing there all alone

Wanting the dust to be blown

Waiting for someone to read those pages

And bring him out of his life cages.