Why am I filled with broken desires?
Why is my life filled with disappointments?
Like a car without tyres,
A prophet without ointment.

   I wish I never picked up this pen,
   If only I knew I would end up in a den,
   I wouldn’t have started this journey,
   If I had known that I would end up mourning.

People who are well below my standard,
Get to what I want without being battered,
While I sat and watched from a corner shattered
As they got their bread buttered.

     I wish I never wrote poems
     If only I knew it would leave me half dead,
     A contest I could have won without memos
     Underated my abilities and left my zeal red.

Now my Pen is shattered
without hope for revival,
I would never piece it back up.
But, wouldn’t it be wrong to let it go?

         NO, I shall continue
         I would follow my tenure,
         Even if my dream is not realised,
         The Mighty Hand has my zeal revived.

The Nostalgic Pen ©