The clock in the centre of the dinning room is ticking,
the room is dimly lit.
You can hear thudding foot steps upstairs,
clothes scattered around the couch.
Here I am,
scribbling my thoughts on a blank piece of paper,
while harking to dreadful and immoral songs.
The noise of a rocking chair,
which i am sitting on.
You can feel the freezing cold,
from the thin walls.
The floor is smooth and bright,
from the reflection of the light.
You can smell an enormous aroma,
from the ravishing scented plants,
as if you could directly taste it.
The ticking of the clock stops,
now the room is in a silent mode,
nothing is moving,
but the innocent flashing glow from the internet modem.
You could see shadows from a variety of furniture pieces.
So silent,
yet for me it is relaxing,
i could stay here forever,
and think of endless and unknown images of my future.
This is my favourite room,
the room full of imaginations,
becoming a realization.
