Once the paper united with the pen,
And the latter was set free towards an alluring heaven.
Moulding and carving a castle of style,
Of bricks hand - picked as words elected for a rhyme.
The ink romped over as a kite in the blue,
Each bit was flavoured like a perfect brew.
Every chunk of the paper was painted with devotion,
Like a mother traces her shadow in the heart of her young ones.
Not a blot was made by the assiduous pen,
Like a soldier in the army giving every inch of his strength.
Slowly and calmly as the portrait was drawn,
The pen started fading like the earth during dawn.
And thus came a clock when the pen fell down,
Fidgeting and trembling like a headless crown.
The paper was framed but the pen was discarded,
The paper earned fame but the pen left unrewarded.
The irony was left unsolved forevermore,
As the paper had it's name by the pen left alone.
But the pen still gave a lambent smile,
For her selfless deed made the paper shine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful imagery about a pen and the paper goes into the writing of this poem that makes it an equally amusing piece of poetry. Thanks. Every chunk of the paper was painted with devotion, Like a mother traces her shadow in the heart of her young ones. The paper earned fame but the pen left unrewarded.