This is a personal reflection on ageing, silence, dreams, and the healing power of writing. A trembling hand shows that time passes, but a dreaming heart stays young. In this poem, the pen is more than just a tool—it is a companion that hears the unspoken words and helps us find ourselves again.

Ultimately, the poem celebrates a simple truth: as long as we can express, dream, and create, life continues within us.

# Yes, My Pen Is Still in My Hand #

Today,
my pen refuses to write.

I have a heart full of words,
memories crowding my mind,
yet every sentence
dies before reaching the page.

Perhaps my hands have grown old,
perhaps they tremble now—
but my dreams
have never learned to age.

There are things
my lips cannot say,
feelings too deep to express,
so I leave them quietly
at the doorstep of my pen.

Life has placed
many stones in my path.
Some dreams were bruised,
some hopes turned into scars,
and sometimes
I lost myself while carrying
the expectations of others.

Yet I refuse to surrender.

Let time wrinkle my face.
Let my footsteps become slower.
Inside me,
a young heart still runs
towards tomorrow.

My pen knows my secrets—
the tears behind my smile,
the battles I never spoke about,
the dreams I still keep within.

So, my dear pen,
forgive me for our quarrels.

When the world becomes silent,
you remain beside me.

Today, my trembling hand
finds you again,
and I know
I will find myself too.

Yes, I have learned
one simple truth:

Age may weaken the hand,
but it cannot silence
a dreaming heart.

So let the ink flow.

Let the pain become poetry,
let the silence become a song,
and let these remaining pages
carry the feelings and words
my heart still wants to say.

As long as I can write,
I am not growing old—
because my pen is still in my hand.

(Vijay Verma)
www.retiredkalam.com

Categories: kavita

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