A pen that refuses
To leave the paper
Is one that is destined
To make a mark.
When pages are blank
With no mind of their own
That is when they are most
Happy
Are the most ignorant.
Ignorance:
A vice and a virtue.
Is it better to study the darkness
Or to study that which is aflame in color
That ensures a damaged heart?
Is there such a thing as
Knowing too much?
A blank piece of paper
Is a servant
And is told secrets
Even if they wish not to listen.
A pen, too is a slave
To knowledge
But it has no mind
To call its own
To begin with.
Neither pens nor paper are gifted with choice
But one feels pain
When they are told the truth.
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