A mad woman

A mad woman is writing nonsense
like bird that forgot how to fly
but is twisting around
smashing into pieces
what it had as a hope.

This mad woman doesn’t care
about what life has for her
she just keeps on waiting
for her turn to be free.

A mad woman is searching
in never-ending fields of joy
the flower
that will never be hers.

This mad woman is reading
what seems to be a poem
praying for the open arms
that she never gave.

And I’m that mad woman
that doesn’t know about north or south
and beyond the mountains
seeks a new end.