The witness to every trade on earth is the pen,
whose nib writes down the price of desire.
You were sold under someone else’s name, at the cost of his success.
You are celebrating, thinking that,
a single signature has made you the shape of your dreams,
made you a decorated bride wrapped in luxury.
And I too have been sold, in exchange for emotion into the treasury of words,
sold to poetry, stained in the same ink of that same pen.
Your celebration will end suddenly,
for the pen in whose allure you lost yourself,
may be greater than anything you ever imagined.
Yet one day, you will regret.
You will understand that the pen whose signature made you proud,
that pen was never truly yours.
And even your own pen, in the end did not remain yours either.