We learn to write with a pencil's grace,

Forgiving, elemental, helping us find our place.

As we become surer of ourselves each day,

Gel pens glide, creativity takes its sway.

They smudge and bleed and blot and dry,

But forgiveness becomes innovation's ally.

The ink flows freely without any resistance,

Giving us the space to solidify our opinions.

From pencil to gel pens, as we forge our way,

Creativity takes flight, calming mind’s melee.

But then, we face the ball pen's stiff embrace,

A rigid dance, we reluctantly let it take the gel’s place.

It forces itself across the paper’s rugged playground,

But aged and weary, it becomes beat down.

Like a fading star, the mind’s brilliance wanes,

Leaving the hand longing, seeking creative reins.

As we adapt, transformations unfold,

Minds tethered to screens; expressions untold.

Drone-like hands grow detached and numb,

A dull mechanical rhythm replacing mind’s delightful hum.

In this fast-paced world, to hold fast to our voice,

Amidst the rush of keys, we must make a conscious choice.

Occasionally, to let our words break free from their routinely dance,

And revive the spirit of pen and paper’s romance.