Born in a factory,grown in a stationary,
bought by a man,I am a man.

The man called me,as a 'parker',
He told that,'This pen is little darker".
That very night,I was put in a cupboard,
In the darkness,I was feeling akward.

Next day,when i woke up,
I found myself in the traffic chokeup.
The man was taking me to his office,
Where everyone was busy, drinking thei coffies.

While eating, he used me to sign a deal,
signing and signing, he forgot his meal.
Till the evening,my refill was half,
The man tied me, in a dusty scarf.

With other pens,which were half used like me,
And threw us, under a banyan tree.
(After an hour)
A man picked me up,who was from cleaning staff,
After picking me up,he threw away the scarf.
I was gifted to his son,on his birthday,
Who used me up,till his next birthday.

By finishing the projects,given by the teacher,
who had studied,only till the masters.
The boy threw me,in a stinking dustbin,
Which was the root,of mosquitos breeding.

From that very day,I am waiting for someone to use,
As i have some refill,left as excuse,
A wise man told true that it is an formality,
'A thing is used,according to its capability.
#TheFuturePoets
© BoNd