HOPE

If the city was a library with a panoply of books,

Each skyscraper would be a magnificent bookshelf

Each window would be an enigmatic book

The warm lights like the yellow pages in an old novel

Within which the stories would reside

And the home would be the writer’s, expressive heart,

The origin of those precious stories.

The stars illuminate the scenic city’s splendour,

Like the bibliophiles glorifying the essence of the words

That bring the ethereal notions to life.

These stars are glistening radiantly tonight,

And the readers are travelling through the tale with delight,

For they are eager to watch your story unravel.

I look out my captivating windows wistfully,

And beyond the veil of skyscrapers,

I see The stars that have been with me through it all,

And have witnessed me rise after a fall,

Like the fanatical readers rooting for the protagonist,

Experiencing every expedition and emotion with them.

My heart shall not cease to remember,

To never relinquish hope and keep pursuing my dreams,

Because it is the source for the ink to keep flowing

That gives rise to new chapters in the story of my life.