She secretly collected thoughts
like they were priceless post stamps in an album
or rarest animals in an exotic zoo.
From the moment of their birth
she kept them in a cage
and called them her sweet babies.
They never met anyone else, she would not have it.
She always feared the window draught
might make them fly away
if they should come of age.
No air, no light could enter
through the hatches of this house,
and pot plants perished in the dark.
She started having coughs herself
and died an early age.
When she was carried to her grave,
out of a cellar room a thought emerged,
the only one that had survived her mind
as all the others suffocated long before.
It trembled as it went outside.
This was the best thought that she’d ever had,
a strong one about honesty, original and bold
but it could not survive in light.
Before it was about to speak
and tell the mourners of their cold hypocrisy,
it fell down on the earth,
it moved no more, got trampled
and what remained of it,
was blown into oblivion.