Where is that powerful pen?
I only dream about imagination
What type of an ice it may cut?
Why real doors are shut?
There is lot more to infuse
Lot more to accept than to refuse
I was born fighter
But not forced writer
The poetry came to me in blood
I was reading a lot and consumed as food
I look back at childhood
Notoriously known in neighborhood
But good at study with nice behavior
That was really matter of pride and honor
In autumn of life, the third gate was opened
As stranger, I stepped in and entered
It was vast field with lot more to explore
Accepted the challenges and continued there after