The old typewriter is silent on the old table
Keys waiting for the touch of loving fingers
That would never miss the right keys
Even if their letters are long gone.
The old chair is silent at the old table
Waiting for an old friend
Who would hunch over the typewriter
And plays magic with its keys.
The old table is silent in the old room
Waiting for an old friend
Who would sit on the old chair
Thinking and working for hours.
Days arrive and leave
The typewriter remains untouched
The chair remains empty
The table remains idle.
Still they wait for their old friend to come
And once again
The old typewriter would come alive
And poems and stories would be born.
