I dove deep down yesterday, under a pile of books

Looking for a poet who had been lost since days

I found her hidden in a corner, behind a page

Chewing on a word- ‘lonely’

She had tears in her eyes

She too had been searching for me.

I sat with her for a while, on the edges of her book

Our backs resting on the walls of a poem she had written

I was with her, listening to her tales of sadness

Of words that had left her

Of feelings that no longer inspired poetry

Of the ache she didn’t want to write about

After a while, she sang to me old poems

Those that were written

during a happier time.

When I was leaving, I picked my poet up

Thought I’d keep her in the front pocket of my shirt

Right in front of where my heart was

But her home was in those pages, her soul in

those words

So I settled her on a nice cozy bed

of a brand new page

Promising her happy dreams

And a dose of hope, to help her write again.