Ink and Imagination : A Poem
A love letter to the lost pages
In a world where screens illuminate the night,
I yearn for the whispers of ink on parchment white,
Where thoughts could dance, unbridled, untamed,
And pages bore witness to dreams unconstrained.
With quill in hand, I’d wander the stray,
Scribbling secrets that flowed from the gray,
Each stroke a revival of voices long past,
No edits, no filters, just shadows cast.
Oh, to be lost in the scent of old books,
In margins and doodles, in half-written hooks,
Where language was messy, and courage, a friend,
Each error a splendor, not something to mend.
Now I type on the glass, with a tremble, a fear,
Of typos and blunders, of judgments to hear,
With fingers that hover, like sparrows afraid,
To desecrate beauty for which I once played.
But there was a magic in pressing down bold,
In sharing the canvas, in stories retold.
The weight of the paper held dreams close and tight,
While now, taps and swipes steal away that delight.
I miss the sweet spontaneity of ink,
The rumple of pages that allowed me to think,
To explore through my musings, unfurling my range,
Where voices would echo, where hearts could exchange.
So here’s to the scribbles, the stains of the past,
To creating without fear that echoes won’t last,
For it’s in those raw moments, where true art can flow,
That I find my lost spark, and let my soul grow.
Let’s shed our screens softly, let’s take up our pens,
And paint vibrant stories, where the ink never ends.
For in every misstep and whim that we share,
Lies the heart of our being, laid open and bare.
Thank you for your time.
— Jaral
