Born with pen in one hand
and idea in other,
I cried,
not tears but echoes of punctuation.
I screamed,
for paper yearning to share visions
in-between sleep.
I smiled,
seeing colorful spirits
urging me to be patient.

But when I laughed,
the world gathered
and conversations began
acting like building blocks for poetic words.

At young age
I molded phases in mind
like tasty lollipops,
as stick-like pen was my friend
and ideas clung to mobile.

By age four fate was sealed
while pen expanded,
and ideas sprouted like flowers of poetry.

Poems,
I share as a prodigy
creating smiles to celebrate life in verse.