MY PEN

Ever since, you move away,

From my life,

Separate your ways,

From that of mine,

I am in pain,

In strain.

Every moment,

I live a little bit,

Die more bit.

I can’t call it living.

I call it existing.

My eyes shed water,

Behind the closed doors.

Whilst my heart,

With all its intent,

Prays for your betterment.

I jot down my feelings,

Silently in my verses.

But my pen does not ever,

Oozes red ink out of anger,

And I do not allow it

To turn black out of disappointment.

My pen

Percolates pink ink,

And the ink,

Smells rose,

Colors rose,

As this is the color of my emotions

As this is the fragrance of my adoration.