The Spirit Of A Writer

The smell of ink on the wooden table enticed my nose to the abandoned house

Where ants prey on a tattered slip of papers lying on the bare floor

And broken pens of various colors assembled in a tomato tin

In a house with no human

I can feel the spirit of a writer

The curtains closed tightly to stop the sun from spying

The breeze kiss the tip of some papers gently into the outer house

There! I saw letters of different font

Like the wall was hungry to be touched

Words filled it to the brim

It was colorful like a rainbow of different shades

In a house with no human

I can feel the spirit of a Writer