It’s almost dawn,
Ones walking at this hour
Are incapable of happiness.
It surely isn’t for the happy people
Who live day by day
Loving everyone around them,
Gullibly driving through life
Believing it is something sacred.
Four am is for the hopeless ones
That can’t sleep, the insomniacs,
The ones that can’t stop creating.
For if they had one dream,
It’d be to make something everlasting
That doesn’t decay with time.
But that creator at four am
Is drowning in the shadows
That feed on every inch of her skin,
Shadows carrying the past
Shadows carrying perseverance
In its coffin.
The artist stops midway
And looks at the ground,
Only to find a note
With someone’s dreams written on it.
These dreams punch the artist in the face,
They are what she wants to do,
They are what she once succeeded in achieving.
But had lost grasp of reality so quickly
That she couldn’t go back
In order to express her dreams.
Dreams on a sheet of paper, forgotten before the rise.
About the Author:
Christina Batrouni is a fourth year English major at the American University of Beirut with a minor in creative writing. She has been published by UNICEF and worked for AUB’s newspaper Outlook and was published there too. She currently started writing poetry and is getting featured on astainofink.com. She also directs movies and loves photography.
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