My Pen Has a Voice

My pen was eavesdropping

On the dripping rain

From the eaves of the house

Of pleasure and pain:

It hears the voice silence,

And tells it to the noise.

A noise as silent as the light

That flashes the lightening,

And echoes the thunderstorm

For the weeping cloud

To make Sahara rejoice

Like the rainforest of Amazon.

My pen is the voice

That eclipse the silent night

With the utterance the life

That makes a dead seed bud

Into a morning glory flower

In the sight of the rising sun.

My pen has a voice,

It crows like a cockerel

At the break of dawn.

My pen has eyes like an owl,

It sees all of nightfall

Far away from the setting sun.

My humble quill pen

With peacock feathers

And eagle's vision.

On the height of eagle's wings

It spread words of wisdom

To the very depth of dolphin's fins.

My pen wrote the lyrics

To the Nightingale's

Songs of Creation.

My pen moves her feet,

Dancing on my fingertips

To the rhythm of your heartbeat.