The destroyed me...

Pen

The broken pen laid on the table,beside it,half written letter..

Today too she picked up her pen,yet again it broke,just like her heart..

She smiled a little looking at the second pen of the day,

Why are you so naughty today,that my letters are not complete,she asked the broken pen .

The pen laid on the table could not speak,yet if it was able to,it would have..

Whom do you write..

The adress is long lost..

And your letters have become object of mockery on you..

Your pain has become a reason of vanity for someone..

Your words boosting someone's ego..

What the pen did not know was,she too knew..

Yet she still wrote,nights after nights,days after days..

Hoping against hope that may be one day wind would pity her,

And carry her letter to that adress for which she writes,from time unknown..

And again she picked up her pen