An open book,
ready to be written,
blood to serve as ink.
Lay with me and look inside
and mirror, what I think.

Write what you see
inside my head,
make it crystal clear.
I’ll let you in,
deeper within,
if our thoughts begin to veer.

The scarlet shimmer
upon this sheet,
you print and make it shine.
Pull a feather,
from tattered wings
and use this quill of mine.

Write away
into the night
and stay up until dawn.
Write upon this sheet of paper,
by noon
it shall be gone.

This ragged scroll
of my life
will stay clean forever.
A dream it is,
in which you write,
on this blank piece of paper

By: Viraj Belgaonkar