The Ink in the Pen

The Pen that writes doesn't know,

The ink sometimes flows, 

though it ebbs most of the time,

It acquires patterns and textures;

It smears stains on endless parchments;

Some plain, some colorful;

The ink glows and fades according to the paper roll;

It acquires colors as it rolls;

The ink will keep flowing...

Till it becomes colorless to everyone....

But the flow never stops..

The ink never fades….

Who put the ink in the pen?

Alas I may never know.

An ode to your tears

Your face turns a dreary red

As your heart bleeds through your eyes;

Someone has pricked your heart-

With the thorn of an unsavory word; 

drawn out from the scabbard of a distasteful sword,

May your head rest on the hollow of my heart,

May your tears wet my soul

May I always bear the weight of your sorrow

Your face turns a blushy red

As your heart swells through your eyes;

Someone has wamed your heart-

With honey drawn from the cheerful songs

Of a million colorful dancing flowers

May your head rest on the bow of my heart,

May your tears caress my soul

May i always be the cause of your joy !!!