Pen
I am a cheap pen, living
In your pencil box, which you keep unlocked
So that someone steals, cause a new one rocks
I have been, used to write letters that you didn’t mean
Your ignorance is not a hidden thing
Call me a link/linc between God and human beings
As I write lies, which are truly seen/sin
As truth, I put dots on a paper
Still you love the costly pens,
You honor them as your savior
Clever, the way you favour
The one with a branded name on it, remember
When you bought a new one from open market
By exchange of words, I was, brokenhearted
Day by day it turned out to be a growing burden
Knowing I am unwanted
Throwing up on a book, I vomit, ink comes out
Before he died, did Lincoln shout?
No he died, with a dream living in the pocket of his coat
A pen to represent him, present in presidential quote
So I write, knowing that no one will go through my note
My paper floats like a boat, frightened boat
On my tears, all these years, all of this enlightened road
Full of water and mud, what else you want?
Will write till my ink dries and nibs get blunt
But someone takes credit of what I write, I am not a born fighter
I am a mechanical ghostwriter
I could, make the world look, more brighter
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