The pen rambled across the pad
To write something untrue
Yet mind and heart did seldom see
When the pen hid it's rue.

Mind could think but heart would long, for
Insidious days to part
Yet pen would foster spilling of
Blood from the wounded heart.

Verses written in sparkling red
Couldn't sort the haze around
A poet caught in the vicious fray
Wouldn't want to be homebound.

Prashant Shaurya ©
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