As metal glides over pulpy fibres,
Blue hue flows, seeps and rests.
Words from letters,
And letters from
Level lines, troughs and crests.
Feelings buried within thoughts,
Omnipresent signatures over bills,
Mile long equations,
Quick, quiet reminders –
All my needs, my darling fulfils.
She stays cuddled, close to my heart;
In my pocket’s corners, as she lingers;
Ready to scribble
When I hug her close, with my fingers.
P.S. In spite of the lovely service my pen provides, I still subject it to all kinds of terrains – cloth, tissue papers, human skin, and walls to name a few. This poem talks about the joy I draw from writing, and how much just holding a pen soothes my mind.