Forgotten pens
take care of forever-growing lens.
Ink spills like a river on white desert,
from hurt to heart,
happy or fallen apart,
They walk on silence,
yet have the power to shake the inner world,
Lean and learn through guidance.
never laughing at mere numbers or letters.
Sharpest weapon
and the only medicine,
a rain forever unseen,
for broken hearts.
Which fall like feathers
on a flood of blood.
Yet it hides behind,
letting the page shine
Like borrowed glow from the sun,
All praise for the writing
that flows so fine.
but what about the pen?
The one always kind,
connecting through every drop of ink
tethered to the mind.
Unfortunately, they are left on the school desk
rolling on the unkind floor.
Empty pen, unwanted, nothing more to expect.
I pick them, wondering
how to give final respect.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 2:57 PM UTC
Forgotten pens
take care of forever-growing lens.
Ink spills like a river on white desert,
from hurt to heart,
happy or fallen apart,
They walk on silence,
yet have the power to shake the inner world,
Lean and learn through guidance.
never laughing at mere numbers or letters.
Sharpest weapon
and the only medicine,
a rain forever unseen,
for broken hearts.
Which fall like feathers
on a flood of blood.
Yet it hides behind,
letting the page shine
Like borrowed glow from the sun,
All praise for the writing
that flows so fine.
but what about the pen?
The one always kind,
connecting through every drop of ink
tethered to the mind.
Unfortunately, they are left on the school desk
rolling on the unkind floor.
Empty pen, unwanted, nothing more to expect.
I pick them, wondering
how to give final respect.
Pen is our true friend ,respect it ,it feels lonely too..without you .
