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You penned me half.


You penned me half.
The shiver that your words gave,
Were traveling through valleys in me.
The bonding you tried to narrate,
Were like finding the penny in the sea.
It wasn't a unfinished poetry;
It still tunes everyday like the bicycle bell.
The curiosity you had inked,
Raised the child in me to know both the sides.
The image that you pictured was of course blurred,
But it rages me of you not trying even to see through it.
A ink is not heartless.
It has more than a life surviving in it.
I may have ask you to page it for me,
But it would have killed the mockingbird in you.
But well done sir,
At least you gave a chance to a story.
Still wrapped in wet ink .

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