My Pen

My hand trembles
For my pen refuse to write any more words
Guess even my pen is now tired
The poems refusing to be formed
Just like a bud refusing to bloom
My pen is the rainbow
That shines after every rain
But now the drought is taking over
And somewhere a strong wind blows
In a desert of my mind
With ever changing dunes of emotions
Yet I fear the stillness of this storm
But every now and then
My pen catches the glimpse of mirage
A far hope
That something will shine soon
And my pen tries
To form words effortlessly
I am jealous of it sometimes
Cause it has proven to be more resilient than me
Just like a flower rising out of a crack in cement
This cement being my mind
Not strong but hard
So hard that sunshine couldn't reach it
And somehow
My pen is my hope
My forever
I might give up
But my pen is never going to give up
On me
On my words
On my life
On my being...

Monday, January 1, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: hope