Poetry (100)

Hello Escritori,

Today is the day of the Big 100!  A Sunday Poetry milestone indeed.

Thank you to everyone who stumbles upon my colourful corner of the internet.

The Scholar’s Ink

Before I sleep, I entreat

You for your protection

In my voluntary vulnerability.


I entrust the sword of my pen to you

And the music of my fingertips

Writ with letters, not notes.


I entrust those mumbled couplets

Said to walls stained with moonlight

In the blue-dark when I drift

In and out of sleep:

Those fragmented

Fractals of independent genius

That fade, more dreamlike

Than dreams.


Sometimes never again recalled or seen

Evanescent in a lunar gleam.


When I am weary

Be with me, oh Allah

In the fragrance of their vapour.


A weary scribe needs this mercy

For even if her hands at peace

Seem curled for war,

This gentle readiness is

The ease of a warrior’s sleep.


One who tempers justice with mercy

Acts as a witness in transactions

And offers a defence with eloquence

And coolness of temper:

Who gives form to the words of another


Verbatim and faithfully.

What God taught in the use of the pen

They action, loyally

And beautify with calligraphy.


When a scribe sleeps

At night in complete

Inaction and ease

It is because they have

Discharged with excellence

All of their duties.

Making all in a record

Right with God

And humanity;


Not unlike those


Angelic scribes

That record our deeds

For eternity.


(© Copyright Pola Negri, 07/07/2017.)



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