When the Pen Flows
The pen made contact,
With the blank canvas,
My grip still intact.
But soon,
The restless mind made the pen flow,
As I lost the track of time,
It made the black in the white glow.
The pen took my hand for a ride,
As it ventured on its own ,
Making loops, doodles with a sudden slide.
I woke up to the sway of wind chime,
It calmed the mind,
The slow breeze, the sun at prime.
I saw the mess I made,
Which was quite hard to erase
So I left it in the shade.
I started a new line,
This time, the pen in my control,
I hope, this turns out fine.
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