Here i am the unending quill
which can write on anything at will.
The only way to make it stop
is by making ideas not to crop.
Ever since i proclaimed myself a bard
for writing something, its been never hard.
Its only that i regret that i had to loose
someone, for my works, was an ideal muse.
All that comes in the mind as a thought
or if it is an explanation i've sought
all that the quill goes on to write
without caring whether its wrong or right.
It has been some sort of fortune
that even if i write out of tune
of ideas and themes, there is no scarcity
so that i keep on writing till eternity.
So i hope that my quill never goes dry
even if life leaves me to fret and sigh.
Atleast let me have something new to say
on whatever thought would come my way.
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