THE ARTIST TRUE

My hair grows into tangled knots

And my skin grows rough and dull

The sun rises in the summer sky

But I hide in my room

I hide from the light, the day and the sun

Having an affair with my bed,

that lasts till the dawn of night

I rest amid stale clothes, stale food and a soul

If you ask me.

I have so many things to do

My lifelong plans sleep here

In the notebook of truths untrue

Like other,

I have also climbed the ladder of pursuit

" What must become of you? "

Whispers my inner voice

This is the perpetual struggle

But I win, I sleep

Till the night comes, and I rise,

They call me an artist

But today I am only painting my own lies

Amid stale clothes, stale food and a soul

I try to unveil my demise

Just waiting till the dawn of night.

The World Students Society wishes the author Hiba Asmar, the very best and hope to welcome her on :  wssciw.blogspot.com