I wrote many words in this diary of blue
These words
Which have no meaning and value
They will be left unspoken, lost among pages.

Wasting pages
Wasting ink of the yellow pens
Who will read these words?
The aging yellow paint and the play of rhymes

These words will remain untouched
As if the cries of the sky
As if the waves of the sea locked,
Waiting to be freed like the bird in the cage gazing at the sky.

It's the end in October
Pages last flipped by me
Last seen by me
Last read by me
I'm the one to drop the last tears.

What's the meaning of writing these words
Which will be ever unspoken?

I'm just wasting pages, ink and time
From the July of three years ago,
Now October to mark the end.

End of this play.