My
pencil does not fit for duplication
It
cannot lead itself to its destination
It
cannot stand in neither curve paths nor straight paths
All
day in my blank paper it will just sat
But,
when I think of telling sweet memories
It
will sharpen itself even to never meant stories
And
when it feels that I am out of question
It
will dance with the tune of inspiration
When
it breaks, it can be at ease with strangers
Without
a shame it will lead a sharpener
Unconsciously,
it will get a pinch of lead
Which
help me do the curves and straights of shades
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