Yellow Dairy

The pages of the diary are no longer touched.

Hundreds of tired words are no longer written in the mind.

Wood roses are no longer kept in yellow leaf folds even if desired.

That winter morning,

Aye doesn't go out in the morning to see the dew in her yellow diary.

Or arrange the diary in a garland of hyacinth flowers.

That day was over

When I came home from varsity

I saw that the diary was no longer in the bag. I didn't find much.

It's not a joke or a movie,

Anyone who finds it will go through it again!

Then return home feeling desperate.