Seasons have passed and I wrote many things.
I’ve expressed and narrated my stories.
I never wasted my papers and ink.
Looking at my pages, you can prove it.
Now as I was trying to write something
The pen that that I’m using broke suddenly
Tears and words could not explain the moment
Now I shout, “Be restored my broken pen”.
O my pen, why have you done this to me?
Please let me write again wonderful things.
My hands became so confused when you broke.
I’m like an artist with nothing to stroke.
The ink and the next pages are ready.
Be revived and don’t keep me on waiting.
There are many things that should be written.
There are things the world should know and possess.
Be repaired and be the way you should be.
Fulfill your purpose and your destiny.
Now I cry, “Be restored my broken pen”.
With the ink, give the papers good contents.
Copyright © 2010 by Obed Dela Cruz
(January 30,2010; Marikina City)
(The ownership of the poem belongs to Obed Dela Cruz. To use it in a proper manner, please email him at firstname.lastname@example.org)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem