It's been a time of looking back and around. For something new, something different. And while searching for a very old copy of a little book that contains some tales of the 1001 Arabian Nights, instead I found a diary I started to write seven years ago. At the first page there is a poem I added a year later. It goes like this.
You are my diary
I'm writing every day
You are my memory
recalling all I say
On my own
I'm nobody, you see
All this time alone
I am all but free
(October 2, 2006)
Sunday, September 2, 2012
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