PENCILLING MY PENSIVE THOUGHTS……. 

 

New  inventions galore, yet the world existed even before,

Things that helped us for centuries, now in total oblivion

Aids us to write, communicate and teach others for sure,

One such is the slender pencil, hear its laments in verse. 

 

Seven inches, my standard height , you can say that way,

One fourth  an inch, my girth, no choice, you  prefer less,

Dressed in different stripes of color, much to your liking,

One end has a rubber sleeve, again to erase your blemish.  

My heart is graphite, the central core, can write volumes

No charm to boast of, yet I do express through my heart,

Deliver boldly and beautifully, thanking the shrewd user,

Need a godfather like you to fathom my heart to the hilt.

 

Oft lying idly, once sharpened, I start to write your heart,

Needs a constant cajole, I get blunt, thanks to all thy skill,

Constant sharpening doubles my potency, cheating none,  

Never grumble when over used or underused till my death. 

 

Advancing Science did hasten my exit, hear my death knell,

Have sorrows and shortcomings, none is perfect though?

You medicos and I share and differ  some same emotions,

May sound ridiculous, yet some way I feel proud and elated.   

 

Our hearts appear tough but do spring to help the needy, 

Our service age related, making an impression razor sharp,

Exterior may deceive the eyes, hides a helping heart within,

My skills on constant sharpening, so do thy knowledge too.   

 

We differ, in your services oft laudable, and non erasable,

Mine, short lived, fades , yet dependable in emergency,

Never do I stain thy stature or stain thy attire and unselfish,

Message is clear, I am your servant, ready to obey its master,

World hath seen many rebirths, once discarded comes again, 

We pedaled crazily the tricycle, only to thrive on a bicycle later, 

The mopeds reformed our lives, the riches sought the limousines,

The lazy hearts took its heavy toll, now they walk for health.

 

Men may come, men may go, I go on forever, an old saying,

Yours truly three centuries old, my job now, is one of a spare,

Amongst the greats, though idling, do serve once in awhile,

Like a bicycle, my rebirth will come soon, I do crave thy care.