Hello folks. I am here with a poem which I wrote 2 months ago. It is not of one those intense poems of mine. Just a poem. This I wrote on the key. The key of the writers. Coincidentally, the title is also THE KEY. I hope you guys would like it. Feel free to share your thoughts on it.



So when I sat down

To let ease my subtle frown,

I kept a pen with me.

I don’t know why I did that,

Perhaps it was just emotions

Or any well thought strategy.


But as I held my pen in my hand

And started etching my words

On a piece of paper,

I felt my voice getting a stand

Because my two different worlds

Started coming together.

I paused, I looked around

I tried to figure what was going on

And in my quest I just found

That it was way different from

My everyday’s stroll.


I figured out that in this game

I no longer had to sit for hours

On the single bench

Forcing my drained mind

Into a deep and thirsty quench.

Or to sit beside a so called

‘Broken heart’ on the loss

Of his girldfriend.

Sarcastically, which has now become

The new generation’s typical trend.

Here there were no rules

No norms to follow,

No touching feet of unknown aunties

Or any forced food in the name

Of prasad to swallow.


In this world I felt the

Leaves shining and smiling at me,

I witnessed the singing and dancing

Of a dying tree.

I could feel the love

Of my words

Which possessed the power to

Even mend the broken hearts.

I could travel the world

By musing for just a moment

And feel the tears, pain, agonies and lament.


I could sense every emotion

Sitting on the same bench

But without forcing my mind

Into any deep quench.

As the love came to me itself

Bringing together every possible feel,

In sophisticatedly arranged shelves

Who came through me

In the form of words or prose

Spreading the beauty like

A deadly thorn of a rose.


And then I realized that I was

Not holding just a piece of paper,

It was far more valuable

Definitely more than its creator.

It was not something

Which could be bounded in any cage

Or in any page.

It is like the wind that flows everywhere

Swallowing every grief

And omitting every despair.


I felt happier at this thought

Which my pen had suddenly brought.

I resumed my pause

And restarted etching my

Words on that piece of paper.

The world did not change afterwards,

But I did.

As from them

I held a pen

With a great pleasure

As it opened the doors of joy

The doors of my treasure.



Featured Image Credit-

John Jennings

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *