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 the pen for imperfections.

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 a this grimly deed.

The hand denied and did not cower

I am mere mass and have no power

You fail to see my bland reality

infused by the power of vitality.

Power too 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!

Its knowledge clear instructed me

To drive the hand’s activity.

But Knowledge is not self-imbibed:

For Reason found it pre-inscribed

To find true cause my learned friend

Best pose your question to THE PEN