My leather journals - I am proud of them, lots of toils, tears and coffee stains mar them. The reader might have guessed the geographical locale of coffee smelling (or stinking) houses where most of my 'ink blurs & blots" happen while reflecting and writing.
I use good fountain pens and noodlers ink (courtesy of my friend David who introduced me to them cheap but quality - a trait he carries well). Inspired by the tear-stained and ink blurred pages of my journal which I pride as beautiful battle scars of prayers, knowledge, wisdom, and life here is my poem:
Drops of tears that blur and blots,
the ink on my journal, hair raising-ly raised,
Words of pain, prayers, and praise
Of a contrite heart, that pleases
in the midst of the bloodstained clots,
Stained and blurred,
Still looking beautiful
Like a worn out old map, pointing to a lost treasure,
Or like the old leather bag well traveled far and wide,
With its scratches, holes & batterings,
A reflection of my heart in the sculptor's hand,
ink blurs and blots form the tear-stained art
slowly shaped by the
the Master's craft for his own pleasure and delight.
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