The rifle in my hand is gathering dust
while 'gemsaroundjags'-etched-pellet in enemy's h2a box is gathering rust
I don't get to wield swords
So I work with words
In the creamy cage
Of my calcium phosphate rib
- to soak my off-white page
With my stainless steel nib -
I have replaced the four-cylinder-pump of pink
With a glass pot of Navy blue ink
I pour a bucket of five litres
And make my fountain pen dance in rhyming metres
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