The Spirit of a Writer

The smell of ink on the wooden table enticed my nose to the abandoned house Where ants prey on tattered slip of papers lying on bare floor And broken pens of various colors assembled in a tomato tin In a house with no human I can feel the spirit of a writer The curtains closed tightly to stop the sun from spying The breeze kiss the tip of some papers gently into the outer house There! I saw letters of different font Like the wall was hungry to be touched Words filled it to the brim It was colorful like rainbows of different shades In a house with no human I smell the ink of a writer I feel life