The tear soaks up my page.
I watch it widen with age.
I pick up the pen as my hand wobbles.
This has caused me nothing but a quarrel.
The ink moves up and down.
My smile suddenly drowns out my frown.
The ink moves elegantly like a butterfly,
That stubborn tear begins to dry.
My eyes light up as the words start to flow,
My mind is on autopilot but my hands shout, GO GO GO!
Each letter is a blessing, each letter is a dream,
Each letter is a frame from a famous movie scene.
I watch and praise the ink that dances around my page,
This ink had caused me nothing but rage.
But this rage seemed to feel like something else,
Something pleasurable, something less tense.
As the pen drags horizontally along the sheet,
These letters seem to be making my heartbeat.
Oh, how lovely writing is,
For it is a song my tongue loves to sing,
All distractions are muted even my phone ping.
I never would’ve thought such a petite tear would’ve led me to this,
But now I sit and write all of my thoughts in uttermost bliss!
–Maya Bharadwaj is a teenager from Melbourne, Australia, who is passionate about traveling, writing, reading, music, and ballet. She loves to take the reader into her world with her words