Wednesday, January 08, 2014

THERE is
always something to write

they keep on coming
lining on the stairs

begging on the door
of the house to be allowed to enter

there is another who breaks the roof
of the house

the writer somehow feels
that he is like another form of
Christ

there is this woman
who pushes others away just to touch his robe

a short man who goes his way climbing
the sycamore tree just to take a look at him

there is this prostitute
who washes his feet with expensive perfume

and finally before he gets executed
there is this friend beside him who keeps on saying

write, write,
keep on writing....

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