Pen Falls

this is a poem about a poet on his last words

One day we’ll celebrate in tears the fall of me,

You’ll stand in secrets concealed in wishes,

As they nickname me the last Nightingale,

Not Giovanni, not Daniel, not Gemini,

As you weep in silence as another pen falls.


Scatter words in place of ashes on my grave,

A soldier wounded by bullets from the gun of mine.


Don’t hold me guilty I never had jars of hearts,

I just drew lonely hearts in pieces of paper,

How I love the girls who pocket their hearts,

Who kiss and walk away before the poison hurt,

Then stay up all night to gossip me as another pen falls.


I note this with the last ink in the tube,

To hope a day my words will heal the scar-less skins.


I have sat amongst mourning clouds in wretchedness,

To just watch you dress in red in funeral of crows,

Then put messages in whiskey bottles and cast them to sea,

For sharks to get drunk from drinking my knowledge,

To spare the pen that slowly drowns in the sea of men.


Beauty concealed silently in the silent pen,

As it bleed its heart to the empty paper.


I shall vanish to the city of ghosts walking naked,

Where we are not afraid to expose our hearts,

Where our hands don’t touch but feel empty membranes,

Where our veins supply air to keep us invisible,

It’s no ghost town but where every pen falls.


You bathe in regrets that I’ll never pick up my pen,

While I weep for you have robbed butterflies their beauty.


I must have had the icarus syndrome for this life,

Too stubborn to stand my own fate,

To instead soar on wings made of paper,

Which you put holes while I was blinded by your care,

Now like a flag of a lost battle, let’s salute as pen falls.


I loved a lot and lived a little,

So let present erode my history to past.


Don’t let me run out of my blue ink,

Lest you want to see me write in red,

Or bleed black like my emotions wrapped,

Before you start writing my maturity in green,

Please save some ink for the pads that are empty.


Oh my heart so much wisdom has grown you weary,

A single beat and you slow down to catch your breath.


Oh here I lie with nothing but drained tube,

I see you bring a new bunch of un-chewed pens,

They lie stupid thinking they are wise as I am,

But they are not or has my heart learnt resentment?

Now slow down and fall with the leaves.


They’ll build a monument engraved with my name,

And they’ll say, “Oh here lies the great pen that fell.”

The End

4 comments about this poem Feed