Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

fountain pen


I scribbled innumerable lines of literature with it,
it was still ready to execute a umpteenth phrases
more,
being as strong as an ox when it came to decoding
thoughts into verse,
even when tested at bizarre limits of endurance.


i sketched glowing peaks of mountain basking in the
golden sun,
weaving articulate outlines of the encroaching
shadows,
it yielded to the faintest of my caress; unleashing
dark forms with fountain
ink,
a true stalwart engulfing me in the times of
difficulty.

i even used it for scraping minute blotches of dirt
from my ear,
delicately tickling the inner soft skin with insipid
strokes,
it obliged pathetically to whatever i did,
didn't shed a tear from its eye; nor developed a
retaliatory hole in its heart.


i filled it with surplus amounts of colored ink,
sprinkling the same with lots of glee on the faces of
my counterpart mates,
transforming them into jocular clowns,
with an awe-inspiring caricature of white skin with
opalescent paint.


i kept it well stuffed within the interiors of my
waistcoat pocket,
lived with it for all night and sunlit day,
it had fulfilled my insatiable desire to explore the
world,
assisted me create the animate; and already burried,
i hardly skipped exiting my place of dwelling,
without the reassuring comfort of my chrome tipped
FOUNTAIN PEN.

Submitted: Monday, August 18, 2014

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Topic(s): poetry

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