He sits in the valley of my thumb and forefinger,
And on the book, he lingers.
The ink flows from his pointed mouth;
It is the blood that never clots.
He only knows the hunger of the page,
And he sobs for his fading ink in rage.
He holds the weight of the words I took back
And the words I wrote in black.
Written By: –
Akeef Ahamed
(Royal International School)
