The Blue Pen

The blue pen scribbles across the paper

Something usually a boredom breaker

The ink of thoughts and feelings

Sitting on the chair back home every evening

Behind those stares of walls from a yard

Trying to look into the paper so hard

The hands are freezing with the chills

Yet passionate heart is full of thrills

The grey skies of December and the cold

Things are not easy to unfold

It is a pen though writes only in blue

Something which I find is true

It is a means of expression

Writing is literally my obsession

It is indeed my blue pen

Push me to write every now and then

A pen is mightier than a sword

Only if we carefully choose our words.

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