The first time ever
He graduated from pencil on paper
To the messy ink saber;
Puttu was still a schoolboy, studying in class four.
A favourite pastime back then
Was to splatter ink and play often.
Make several folds till you see a weird pattern.
Mostly, bizarre creatures or some forms from imagination.
Whales splashed on either side flipping their enormous tails.
Pecking on the same bark sat a pair of Woodpeckers.
Stallions appeared on their two feet, always.
At every fold the demons got more horns on their heads.
He would spend all the ink and time he got
Folding the page in and out.
Connecting those distant, scattered dots
He framed stories out of patterns and wove his own plots.
He had fun making sense out of mess.
No clue had he of any Rorschach test or butterfly effect.
All he knew was to splash ink and make a few folds.
That very moment his world would unfold.
Many times, it would leave him with an empty ink pot,
Which Dad and Mom, in the beginning thought,
At school, Puttu had to write and write a lot;
Until they found in his bag, last pages of books with inkblots.
That fateful day, by his folks, he was cornered.
Stretching his steel forth, the warrior finally surrendered.
A replacement, from the stationary, he got after an hour.
But now the emperor’s game had to end some way or the other.
He made a few skilful moves.
But he himself wasn’t impressed.
Not even a single drop
From this new rapier, bled;
“What mighty, is a warrior or a sword
that does not even shed a drop of blood?
Oh what a plight has come upon this valiant’s life!”
He thought to himself.
Now he stood there scratching his head
And stared at the godforsaken plastic sword, he clenched.
The new, blue and white ballpoint pen
Had eventually turned this Ink Warrior into a Legend.