I do Want to Say Something!

 

 

I was celebrated as a divine tool, man,

for your every walk of life, I was your spirit,

I was your backbone, I was your home-mate,

and I was your pal of all pals, right!

 

For daily mundane in the kitchen, a diary

the homemaker keeps scribbling the need;

me her brother helps her not to be weary,

and lists her items, that she couldn't avoid.

 

Writers vomit their ideas with my help,

and they carry preciously wherever they go;

winners gain me as gifts and me myself

lie with them in my new golden garb.

 

Office people, train-ticket examiners, doctors

and none are absent in my counting column,

farm workers and their masters keep records

and I assist them and that is solemn.

 

Delightfully I lie or sleep in pockets

of intellectuals and pupils; for me people

wanted yonder a good place like sockets

that got their recent shape in their apparel. 

 

I was offered serene places for my rest

and now I am given, rather thrown at

corners or even dirty bins for my last rest

and I am left in an unnoticeable spot. 

 

Alas! All my celebrity status has vanished,

the cruel computers and phones encroached on

to my compound and I am being far-chased;

I, your PEN, see my demise, losing the state sacred.