The pen

The breeze blew away the old, loose,Β  papers,

The ink spread coloring the destiny’s scriptures,

The serene, silent sky was cloudy, black and dark,

It suddenly thundered with a bolt of lightning spark,

The spark enlivened the dried, dainty, old pen,

Giving a tender, sweet and pleasurable pain,

The pen kissed the color of the dark boundless sky,

Passionately determined to give it a serious try,

It danced on the paper expressing its ecstatic joy,

Charming, fascinating, graceful, bold and coy,

When the heart-shaped clouds rained love drops,

It wrote on and on with the sky-dark ink drops,

It’s bliss painted infinite miraculous pictures,

Coloring life and painting the destiny’s scriptures.

Copyright 2017 Chitkala Mulye (Chitkala Aditosh)

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45 thoughts on “The pen”

  1. We wish the pen never runs out of this lovely ink,
    and you keep writing poems that,
    makes us read again and again,
    makes us think

    Like

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