A poem called "Writer" in which nobody actually writes anything: that is the first surprise. From the opening lines, attention slides away from the pen and toward the eye. The poem's quiet argument is that being a writer has less to do with producing pages than with the way a person looks at the world.
The first stanza sets this up like a small logic puzzle. "Someone may reads books, but she doesn't always write one or so." Reading does not guarantee writing. Then comes the reversal: "But another one who writes, she always read things." Writing does guarantee reading. It is a one-way street, and every writer is a reader but not every reader is a writer. The language here is casual and a little rough. "May reads" and "always read" bend the grammar, and "or so" is tacked on like a shrug. The effect is of someone thinking aloud rather than polishing a statement. Even the doubled subject, "another one who writes, she," feels like speech, where a thought restarts halfway through. Whether or not every irregularity is deliberate, they give the voice an unguarded, conversational quality that suits the plain claim being made.
The second stanza is where the word "reads" changes meaning. Books disappear, and the verb is suddenly pointed at everything else. The four objects are worth taking slowly: "the sky and flowers," "her surrounding," "seconds that is passing," "people." They move from the most obviously poetic subjects, the ones that fill greeting cards, to the near and ordinary, and then to something that cannot be seen at all, which is time. Last come people, who are harder to read than weather because they can look back. Each object is less graspable than the one before. Even the slip in "seconds that is passing" does something interesting. A singular verb attached to a plural noun makes the seconds feel like one continuous stream rather than a pile of separate ticks.
There is no rhyme, and the poem doesn't miss it. The repeated "She reads" does the work rhyme usually does, laying down a steady, almost incantatory beat. The line lengths help too. The first stanza sprawls, with long, hedging lines. The second stanza tightens into short, clipped statements, as if the speaker has stopped explaining and started simply looking. Form follows the idea, and the poem narrows the way concentration does.
Then comes the break. "She reads soul." It stands alone after a blank line, the shortest line in the poem. The pattern of the previous four lines continues, but the object can no longer be read in any ordinary sense. This is where the metaphor reaches its limit and, probably, its point. The line also drops the article, so it is not "the soul" or "a soul" but soul, as though it were a substance rather than a single thing. The blank space after it works as a pause where the reader is left to supply their own thought. The movement of the whole poem runs outward to inward, from sky to soul and from what can be seen to what can only be sensed.
One more detail deserves attention: the poem never tells us what the writer writes. We get no poems, no stories, no pen touching paper. That absence seems to be the point. The suggestion is that writing is only the visible tip, and that the larger, hidden part is the long habit of noticing. The poem also admits a limitation here. It asserts rather than shows, and we never learn what she finds in the sky or in a stranger's face. That gap is where the reader has to do some reading of their own, which is a neat trick for a poem about exactly that.
Its significance lies in how modestly it shifts a familiar idea. "Reading" is usually something done with a book, and here it becomes a way of living: watching a classmate's expression, noticing an afternoon slipping away, looking properly at a flower. For a student, that is an encouraging thought, because it means you can practise being a writer before you write a single line. The poem carries no elaborate imagery and relies on one metaphor, kept consistent from start to finish. That restraint is its strength, since a poem about paying attention is wise to be simple enough to pay attention to.