My pen has no boundary.
My pain has no boundary.
My  pen moves through my pain.
My pain inks my pen.
My pen alters all my paranoid thoughts.
My pain checkmates my pen.
I play with my pen.
I play with my pain.
I know it’s as simple as that.
Yet I make it spiral because-
Simple is too simple to simplify.
So I do it intentionally.
And all my pain comes in a certain way.
And my pen becomes a silent-
Witness and hence an oxymoron!
Because it penned what it wasn’t supposed to.
Therefore, my pen betrayed my pain and not vice versa.

All I write isn’t a poetry.
Sometimes my pen only pens my pain.
And yes sometimes I babble the gibberish.
And sometimes my pain only pains my pen.
And yes sometimes I feel choked with utter nonsense.
What’s the point?

I think you should pen what you shouldn’t.
I think you shouldn’t refrain when you should.
And when all the pain freaks out,
Relaxes your incorrigible pen. Just pen it.
Pen what pains.





Tiyasha Khanra,
Kolkata, India






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