A pencil can write to about thirty-five miles of distance and a pen writes about three miles.
A sign of growing up it seems when we choose our first pen in school
Fascinating that ink is, colourful and cool.
We don’t just write with that pen
We flaunt, play with the ink, write letters and chits again and again.
But today, not as a growing up little girl
I see through the eyes of a grown up mature girl.
To how much that ink really mattered to me
And how many pencils I kept aside and let them be.
How I loved filling ink every Monday morning
Without thinking of any after effect, any more warning.
Yes, somewhere this invention really helped us
Ink through the nib was beautiful and no fuss.
No sharpeners, no erasers
Basically no mistakes were to be made now too, no errors.
But it changed one more thing
Not just our age or minds but really something.
It made us habitual to a better standard of living
By pushing the standard of life down that we were living.
There wasn’t just one but were many ways
A pencil could make a better world, better days.
But, how would pens make so much difference?
And we ignored the environment and moved forward with indifference.
Today when I see my smallest footstep
I see it as a large misstep.
One filled with carbon for sure
But filled more with my attitude I assure.
The callous way I’ve been living my life
And making it worse for my future in life.
While starting to design a new world
I thought of making it a better place, this world.
And to design it I thought of one thing again…
Will I choose a pencil or pen?