Poetry: White Walls

                          White Walls 

Wonder why they painted them white,
Nothing but mundane wearisome,
Lingering in the stale cold aired room,
Perhaps they weren't meant to be as colourful,
As these four walls,
What a surprise,
The windows were black,
How ironic,
Such radiance it emanates,
Beyond the panes,
Bright city lights glimmered across the street nearby,
Busy with straight walking ambitious elites,
Befriended by the unending construction works,
Along the concrete pavements,
It is much peaceful here,
Nothing rivalled all the humdrum within these white walls,

Except she was different,
The little wildflower of her soul,
Painted these walls with vibrant colours,
Of her vivid imagination,
A little wild, roaming free,
Besides,
It is only her,
Who holds the precious key,
Unlocking her beautiful mind,
What say do you and I have,
And even if we did,
Powerful armour of her tenacity,
Would shield our very dissenting words,
From her garden of hope,
Growing patiently in her nourished soil,
Rooting itself towards the Sun






By Jessica John Posko💗