I love to write my poems with pencil.
It’s faded shade is similar to my thoughts. You cannot see them clearly. But they are there. Always.
I do not use eraser while I write.
I strike off something I don’t like.
Just like my mind plays hide and seek with me.
And never erase a thing.
There’s no proper book I keep
Just unorganised white blank sheets.
And when this brain feels to play with words.
There, they are anywhere on the paper.
Soft gliding of my slender pencil
Resembles my fragile yet strong thoughts.
Oh, How well they compliment each other.
Unraveling their worth.
My mood is light or heavy
The imprint on the back of the paper shows.
No wonder, it’s close to me
With or without a stress or so.
With my thoughts and my pencil.
I repeat my pencil and not pen,
I triumph over the world.
For I’m just a human soul.
In response to Daily Prompt: Triumph