Mock Epic: The Lament Of The Noble Pen Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Desk, witness to tragedy of epic proportions,
Where Heroes—mortal writers—wield the Noble Pen,
Instrument of thought, sword of imagination,
And find it failing at the peak of destiny.
Behold the Mortal, hand poised, vision alight,
Words flowing like rivers, stories blazing like fire,
When suddenly—the Horror! —the ink runs dry,
A betrayal cruel as any Titan's strike.
The Pen, once loyal, noble, and swift,
Leaves only scratches and empty promise upon the page.
Thoughts hang suspended, unfinished, incomplete,
While the Writer wails, despair rising like storm-tossed waves.
Allies—rulers of stationery—cannot aid,
For the Ink Bottle, deep and hidden, is distant and unreachable.
Pencils tremble, erasers sigh in helpless sorrow,
And paper shivers beneath the weight of lost words.
The Hero scrambles, seeking replacements,
Quills, cartridges, and ancient pens of legend,
Yet the moment is lost, epic lines frozen mid-battle,
Ideas vanish like ghosts, ambitions dashed.
At last, the Mortal breathes, weary yet resolute,
Swapping pen for quill, fingers smudged but determined,
Knowing that even in betrayal, courage persists,
And every empty pen becomes a symbol heroic,
A relic of literary valor and absurd, epic struggle.
Thus ends the saga of the Noble Pen Run Dry,
Where mortals face the treachery of tools once trusted,
And every blank page bears the mark of heroism,
Inscribed in frustration, creativity, and legend eternal.