The expensive pen in the golden case looks stunning and I say to myself how elegant it is. Her owner picks her with a pride but picks her rarely to sign an important document or a bank cheque. Here she lies in her golden case again with the same sparkle that had stunned me.
But I would rather be the pen of a writer, a pen he can’t live without, kept in the stinking pocket close to his heart. He picks the pen and pours his heart on to the paper. The writings touch a million hearts and the words become immortal lingering even after the writer and the pen has perished.