A weary pen when ponders
What ye bring back, Sailor from a long journey—
Coffers of golden words of poetry,
Pearls precious or nuggets from depths of sea?
Gone ye had to explore as an old man,
Rudderless, with naught more than just a pen,
No wonder ye retuned bare, naught in den.
Exploring for two scores and more years now,
Fair that ye shudder to take stock somehow,
Bow to those few that your pen can still wow.
And at this frayed end of your life with pen,
Cheer up, be not ‘pon dunghill an old hen,
Who clamours shrill that few cares to listen.
Cheer up, ye chase nary a measure,
Pass any idle time, nor tame leisure,
Let your pen toil for soul’s sole pleasure.
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Tercet |01.05.2024| poet, introspection
Poet’s note: In an age when scores of things vie for people’s attention, when nothing succeeds unless promoted and marketed well, this ‘weary pen’ speaks for any poet, any writer.
Copyright ©
Aniruddha Pathak
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