My ignoble pen with frozen purple-red ink,
Willing to write down the stories of mortality,
Not all writings deal with good,
Some are initiated to verdict nonentity.
To write or not to write!
Here comes the bewilderment.
Because not all stories are meant,
To let everyone know and be existent.
Pen is mightier than the sword!
Then why can't it be used to exorcise the evil?
Willing to write out the long nurtured rages of manhood,
Which will cause sheer cardiac thrill.
But still my pen, my sword!
Will it be able to purge out its bruises under its skin?
The long buried facts of divisions,
Based on caste, creed and pigment of melanin.
Please forgive my pen,
it needs to be cured.
It has to cleanse its impurities and sin,
its owner has witnessed and endured.