My key board left me alone and helpless, to cry and cry,
Someone whispered from my neutron and protons,
‘Though my ink has been dried but being your years old friend,
To help you in this crisis, with my heart and soul, I intend.’
With tears in my eyes I picked my pen kept in the drawer,
In a cup I took some water and pumped it in my pen’s heart,
Waited for a minute and then took a piece of white paper,
Words sang, lines danced, my pen is still a creator of art.
Old ignored forgotten friends do not have long memories,
Always ready to brew beer of love even in buried breweries!