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 ©