A Word Of Myself..

Sitting beneath the shadow of a gentle tree falls upon me,

My mind stumbles upon the melodious bird hovering over the tree.

I this cage of mind, I still decide to write a few pages of mine,

Meeting so many people with tremendous knowledge, I wonder how my pen' s ink can ever run dry?

My pen gets a glance over a few thoughts of mine,

It waves off me to my past, a pen of a few kinds.

My mind runs over, as my pen starts writing,

Thinking over thoughts, my body starts shivering.

Weaving the cage of words, I stumble upon my poem,

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How have my pen well known me, I have now known?

The relationship of a pen and writer, I write is as a fly and flower,

Just like the perfect relationship of the mesmerizing moon and an affluent star.

My pen knows, not me, but my inner soul,

A pen can be varying, sometimes happy, sometimes mourn.

It depends upon my fate, about myself,

I gratitude my pen for experiencing my soul with love immense.

Sitting beneath the shadow of a gentle tree falls upon me,

My mind stumbles upon the melodious bird hovering over the tree.