Boyhood pencil

It was my boyhood pencil, that
Kept me busy
into my present –
Doing sketches:
Drawing lines, and
an alphabetical curves

I am no more
A grown up man
Exercising my age
Still there lurks
An innocence
into my bygone imageries
Behind every words
That I write presently
Crying by my septuagenarian thoughts –
What for this grey hairs
What for this time

Still, I treasure my innocence
Writing my pen
Giving a graphite thought to it
Full of ink
On a blank white paper

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