This is a deeply personal reflection on silence, struggle, and the quiet distance that sometimes grows between a writer and their words.

It speaks to those moments when inspiration fades, yet the heart continues to dream, wait, and endure. At its core, the poem is about resilience—the belief that even in stillness, the story of life is never truly over.

# Me and My Pen #

Tonight, my pen lies silent on the table,
as if it no longer remembers my name.
Once it danced effortlessly with my thoughts,
now it watches me from a distance—
like an old friend who has grown quiet with time.

I whisper an apology,
and try to pour my heart onto paper,
but the ink has faded…
just like many of the words
I once carried so easily within me.

The years have gently bent my body,
and my hands no longer move
with the certainty they once knew.
A soft tremor visits my fingers—
a reminder that time never stands still.

Yet my heart—
ah, my heart remains restless.
Still chasing distant horizons,
still building castles out of dreams,
still believing that tomorrow
may hold a quiet miracle waiting to be found.

So many stories live behind my silence,
entire worlds hidden beneath my quiet smile.
I want to speak, I want to write,
but today my voice retreats,
leaving only echoes
wandering through the chambers of my soul.

Some days I grow weary
and drift away from myself,
seeking refuge in stillness and numbness.
Those are the days
my pen waits patiently,
longing for my return.

It is strange how sorrow hides itself—
how the heaviest burdens of the heart
often appear gentle from afar.
People admire the sunset,
unaware of the storm
breaking quietly within.

There are moments
when even happiness feels heavy,
when hope itself demands courage,
and every step forward
feels like a mountain to climb.

But I refuse to surrender.

I have not come this far
to be defeated by shadows.
I will wrestle with circumstance,
argue with despair,
and silence every voice
that says I am finished.

And one day, when I find my pen again—
my faithful companion—
I will write my remaining years
not in shades of regret,
but in radiant colors of courage,
and paint a rainbow of hope.

For as long as my heart still beats,
my story is not over—
it is still being written.

(Vijay Verma)
 www.retiredkalam.com

Categories: kavita

Tags: #creativity, #Emotioms, #Life, #Love, #poem, #poetry, #wellness, featured, Poem, writing