the PenA Poem by Ishan SadwelkarAn old poem of mine. This is for every pen we use. And dictate terms to.the Pen The point of all beginning, All existence, all meaning See him draw pathways, And tiles, sometimes mountains And render pain Watch him scathe, the fluidity Of his own face create origins, of his rivers And tributaries from the busy stroke Of a dictator nib His holiday is a mere full stop, Days are a calendar of curves, in a week of commas, An exclamation is the brief laughter Reverberating through a blackened ribcage of sentences. See him fly all your kites In the form of lines And different strings Of selected imagination the Pen is the servant of an unpredictable scratch. © 2010 Ishan SadwelkarAuthor's Note
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17 Reviews Added on May 7, 2010 Last Updated on May 7, 2010 Author
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