Her Favourite Color Is Yellow

I don't belong here

This is me, trying to adjust in a world I don't belong to. I am a mountain person, the one who likes peace and the smell of a new book. So, when they ask me to read on Kindle, I only smile.

I value relations so much that even when my distant friend leaves, I almost cry. So sometimes, I feel stuck in a world where they refer people like us as old-school.

I read poetry as if I have created it, or as if it was created for me. Poetry runs in my veins with my blood, so when they try to differentiate between art and life, I only smile. What is life if it is not given to art and what is art if it does not contain life?

Poetry is above all, poetry is art. It is not about the words or rhyming but the aura that it holds in itself, the emotions it carries, the peace it gives to a heart that is still living in the era where it was all slow, the life.

I am often asked to write on a typewriter or something digital, "Diary takes more time," they often argue. I am often asked to reply on time. I am often asked to adjust to technology. But they do not understand that I do not belong here.

I am not the person who goes to sunset and only clicks pic, I try to embrace the view, to quench my soul. I like to sit there with no electric device, to wait for the stars to come, to remain in the moonlight for as long as I can before the sun comes again.

So, if you find me sitting in a corner doing nothing, do not disturb me for I like to sit with myself as often as I can.