HOPE

HOPE
On a random Sunday,
Standing on top of the waters hoping you will STAND.
But Hope, she is empty…she lets you fall and drown.

On a random Monday, observing the trees, making HOPE the verb. Hopping you will perceive the sweetest fruit blooming on a spring day.
But Hope, she lets you STAND observing till infinity.
I hope, HOPE be the action, but she is too abstract, living in my brain.
She doesn’t have ears, but she has eyes to see what I long for.
Maybe if I ink it down, she will notice and act because when I speak, shout or scream…

She watches like a dead crazy plant that…probably will never serve fruits.