Still

A dawn is born to the window sill -
white facade, it lets the colour fill,
fill the empty can - a poet's room
wakes up, surprised: there's life still
slipping like sweat on the leash of Time -
dread and bread, the 'need' to tread...
steps, poems, the water of mirth
to wash off a dreamless, drowsy earth -
she picks on a button that says 'A';
she keys in a name to the day...
dawn, and birth, and a rhyme on Time -
a window that always meant to spread,
spread its colour - the need to tread...
she bottles it up, corks the white -
her lips are white, the screen is white;
'A' is black and the day... the day?

Surprised, there's life still...
'slipping like sweat on the leash of Time'.