I Love The Writers

I love the writers, because my mother said that they descend from a magic paradise and hidden demons sit in their souls. The legend says that the writers awake early to grasp the dreams, and before the white dogs; they knock the snow’s door to tell us winter’s stories. The snowy mountains are in deep love with the hot mantles of the writers and the flying horses that emerge from their fingers had changed the gloomy colors. I see the writers’ souls jump delightedly over the grass, and from their smooth pens, the birds take their chants. You may feel the soft breeze playing with their eyes and you may sense their beatings when they disappear in the river’s smiles.