My ink is refilled and my paper is blank
My hand is invigorate and my muse is blank.
I write on my heart with my pen of thought without an ink
My pen of thought can run than the pen with ink.
My thoughts are filled, but words flew away like birds
And my hand always ready to write but no words
My hands are moving in a random manner
Hoping futilely for words like manna.
Supply of might but nothing to write
I think that's not right
Feels like my soul is blank
Feels like a trooper with no rank.
Pen became heavy due to the pain
Then my heart been posted out like the rain
On a boring Saturday afternoon when I was lonely
My skill should have been friendly.
Even the hands feel the strain
When the mind is down the drain
I do look up to the smiling sun
And start having an unforgettable fun.