A Tale of Two Lovers Nandini Goel

All that Im made of is plastic and a metal tip; All that Im made of is unbiased truth and
unrestrained thoughts. Im a dismantled collection of words that has obliterated dynasties. I
have no opinion of my own, yet I cry tears of ink, capable of causing revolutions.
I live in a cage, adorned with a heavy padlock, that only a few have the key to. I have been
imprisoned and banned for so long that Ive forgotten what it might feel like to breathe the
fresh air of Freedom.
I flourish in dark nooks and crannies, on clandestine bits of paper. My shackles are now
covered in rust, and are at the verge of coming loose. I am the Pen, mightier than what
killed the mightiest ruler of Rome.
For centuries, I have been at the mercy of men. Im nothing but an executor of ideas that
arent my own. In some nations and languages, Im also known as a perpetrator. I was
practised in hushed whispers when Bastille was stormed. I was there at the dawn of
feminism, determined and resolute. I was meditated when the first gunshots in Syria and
Yemen were heard.
Opinions on my Freedom have always been ambivalent, though always conveyed through
me. The pathway to achieving it is an epigrammatic story, told in verse that Ive never been
able to comprehend. My aspiration to self-mastery has been overlooked and trodden upon.
Freedom and I, we live a forbidden romance. We exchange a few furtive glances, never
touching, never meeting. Even if we tried, were bound by ethics involving race, religion and
politics. Whenever caught together, we produce nothing less of a scandal.
I close my eyes, pondering about the affairs of this world that I live in. Strange is my position
in it, and strange will it remain. I cap myself, lest my ink runs dry, and wait with a weary
head for a change that will unite me with my paramour, Freedom. Some day, I say, Some
day.