As I sat, fidgeting with my lifeless pen,
Clicking absentmindedly now and then,
I thought of my old school days,
when fountain pens had a special place.

With endless exams and mindful essays,
They left ink stains on hands and desk trays,
While the nib stood strong, it often broke its crown,
It scratched and splattered as I wrote down.

Etching my destiny with every stroke,
Leaving ink on paper to blot and soak,
My life was slow and timeless then,
Refilling it was a ritual for my ink pen.

At times when ink ran dry with dismay,
Desperation seeped in as seconds ticked away,
Midst an exam or task, a spare pen was a steadfast,
But if none was found, my fate was cast.

And when, the ink flowed freely on paper,
The blank page had everything to savor,
The gliding nib had the essence of a soul,
Unleashing joy as inspiration took its role.

A treasured memory of the past I had,
If you used it too, you'd be equally glad,
Though now obsolete, and not a trace,
Those fountain pens, still hold a special place.

By Jophin Kulangara
©04-May-2023

#poem #fountainpen #inkpen #nostalgia