Ink's Worth Poem by Charles Nnamuka

In the beginning was not a thought created
The pages were with form; but void
And blankness was upon the face of the sheet
And the gentle muse was hovering
Over the face of the page

You probably recognize me from genesis
I am he who has been from the genesis
Of thought existent first in the mind
Giving offerings of letters to muses.
I am the ink that conveys thoughts
In mixtures‎ of colours of emotions
Across tables and boarders of minds

I am the foot of emotion
That runs miles and meters of pages
Strapped in the shoes of stories of
love or hate
Stories of joy or rage
And no! I am not that man from Kenya.

Let the ink talk of the stories
That would miss the pages
If it didn't tell them.
The breathe of ink that
Gives life to the formless
And‎ litter the mind with‎ grains
Of memories inscribed.

So it was that the ink knew the page
So it was that the page tasted the ink.
Intimacy, borne of thoughts
In it's wandering lust.
The gliding wet kisses‎
Of inks that clinges upon pages‎
That leaves stains of thoughts
In lines and rows
Pregnant and heavy and Laden
With meaning.

There will always be that story
That needs telling
Let the tales
Slip through our fingers like
Fine sands or water even when
Circumstances grasps tightly.
The reality of the pen's cut
Into pieces -the sword.
So let the ink work its worth...and talk.