I have lost my pen
its nib – golden
once scribbled ceaselessly
while the world retired
to the cushion of comfort every night
the quill loved to brush against the papyrus…
leaking on blank pages
the painful emotions
which were witness of sordid transitions
helplessly,
yet as a powerful weapon
narrating every encounter thus illegal…
where is the indite
where’s the instrument
the sword -that sliced reality
spear- which pierced the raw veins
dagger – which wounded the cold heart
…
as a potion for lovers
and deadly poison
for hypocrites
…
lost somewhere
… help me ,find my pen
Tis’ lost somewhere
in the desert.
soumyav 