Poet Poem by Abdullah Ramadan

I see a blank page in front of me
I feel the work trying to be free
I draw it up with my fountain pen
I do the labor of ten thousand men

I haul up the words from underneath
That blank smooth surface, in front of me

The words form currents, pulling at me
Dragging my soul, out from me
My soul shapes the words
Making sense of hordes

They make no sense to the untrained eye
But I see them, standing in line

I hear their beat, they want to meet
But I pull at them, I smelt their core
to find the gem, hidden within

Then smooth the edge, cut this gem

You have the poem, forged anew
Your soul on paper
You finally cease
Don’t you see
This Great Work
This Masterpiece