The pen in its relentless pursuit
to finish its work
Pours its heart out
On the paper.
The paper-silent, crumbled
Gets crossed upon and marked upon.
I believe I am the paper.
The paper, unaware of
The pen's pain at life blood
Being drawn out, spilt over,
dried and emptied, sucks the pen up
I believe I am the pen.
- Ashima Jose.
This is the work of my friend. I liked it so much I decided to share it here. :)
