Who Am I

My pen stopped to ink

My computer hanged while I tried working

A stack of books kept unopened 

On the table lying unread

Giving me a smile. 

I was a writer once

My fountain pen was my best friend 

I ran all over collecting memories

From the computer to checking mails every hour

Barely finding any striking motive today 

Barely producing thought-provoking titles

Such a novice freak in me

I spent the whole day exploring without failing

My pen has become good for nothing.

My heart aches now, craving for something new to the craft

And I failed, tried again, and failed.

Everything fell into pieces again

I consoled my writer's self.

I paid for all my skills, got full attention and planned to restart 

Dawn pious fresh, morning birds chirping.

It smelled so sweetly, rejuvenated that aimless wanderer

When countless words fill my papers with colors

I wondered who was I, what have I become, a best-seller writer !!!