I cook for dinner:
a pot of soup and chicken drumsticks.
The salt sinks to the bottom of the pot,
and the chicken turns brown.
The aroma of both fills the air.
But my mind wanders to the sunset
spilling purple on the horizon.
So many words to describe
how the sky changes because of the sun.
I want to run to my papers
and reach my pen.
Only to document the scene.
But wait!
I can’t leave the kitchen.
The vegetables will soften
and these chicken drumsticks will burn.
Like the sky, left behind by the sun.
I take a shower.
The puff foams like a mouth
uttering many words.
Water sprays from the tap.
And I think of the rain,
soft drops sliding down the window.
So many words to describe
how the world is conquered by water’s touch.
I want to run to my papers
and reach my pen.
But my hands are still covered in soap.
I must finish scrubbing myself
or this dirt will cling to my skin forever.
Like a memory that refuses to fade.
It’s time to sleep.
The stars twinkle playfully,
trying to cheer the dark sky.
I think of the moon,
Its pale light casting long shadows
on my bedroom wall.
So many words to describe
how the moon uses the night’s darkness to reveal itself.
I want to run to my papers
and reach my pen.
But my body is weighed down by the day’s burden.
I must sleep soon,
or tomorrow I’ll wake late,
busy with tasks, missing the chance
to pour my ideas onto the page.
And when I finally sit,
pen in hand at the long-waiting table,
all the words have slipped away.
Like yesterday, when I had no time to capture them.