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A poem based on Imam Ghazali’s allegory of the pen – by Faiz Jardine

The Pen

Who transformed to ghastly sight,

with scribbled stains on paper white?

The page denounced the shameful matter,

ask the ink that caused the splatter!

Nay, not me, the ink’s objection

Blame on pen for imperfection.

I was dormant in a wooden flask

When soaked up for this messy task

The pen is swift in its reply

It’s the hand that raised me high.

It found me naked, but a reed

And shaped me for this dreadful deed.

The hand denied and did not cower

I am mere mass and have no power

You fail to see me by my bland reality

A grip but formed by consent of Life's vitality.

Life itself denied the claim

It’s Will that has to take the blame.

It woke me from my hibernation

And stirred in me an inclination.

Will was quick to interject

and named the culprit – Intellect! Knowledge clearly prompted me

To spark the hand’s activity.

My Knowledge is not self-imbibed,

For Reason found it pre-inscribed

Such was the minds contention.

A lamp was lit by hidden hand through Higher intervention.

To find true cause I do suggest you start your quest again

But search beyond the worldly realm for THE AUTHOR and THE PEN

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