Every alphabet came, cursive
to my writing
On a blank page
Flitting on a golden nib
It was your thoughts of yore, that
Plunged me deep
into the inner recess of my heart
and, never let it down
Till I bleed.
How come not everybody, today
is not enamoured by the love of
Ink and pen.
All bit-byte their ROM, volatile.
No comments:
Post a Comment