#WritcoPoemPrompt49 @AtulPurohit
The days of slate and chalk,
Are not easy to erase,
They hold memories,
Of my childhood,

In the presence of the rising Sun
If they gave us words which are significant for a lifetime,
If they collect our cries and destroy It in the right time,
if they gather our laughs and duplicate and return back in the daytime,
If they make us able to draw picture of our life in right way
That pen Scribbled numbers;
The written words in that book using blue or black Ink ;
The bag holding our daily food and water;
was meaningful than we expected;
but the words they gave were limited,
They made our laughs limited,
They made our cries shallowed
so that we became searchers of words,
Wanderers for laughs; hiding our cries
They leave us to paint our own life,
They leave us to built our own words,
They leave us to create our own laughs,
They leave us to hide or drain our own cries;
it is a journey through infinite words
but they are with possibilities,
Simple nikling desires which do not bleed into exterior
A new light of innovation which had been created in the old world of experience,
Aiming the light of determined excellence ahead
A new world drawn using pencils and
painted using brushes,
I was just insistent then
To look at the rain, to look at the sky and sigh
To watch the birds flocking in pain,
To grieve when I see the days falling,
life with...