Ink-carnation (Incarnation)

Ink-carnation (Incarnation)

( to mom and dad )
Never occurred to me that I was the ink of your pen
Sometimes blue as vast as an ocean,
Often red, as vulnerable as danger,
other times green, as serene as your compassion.
I was, from the moment you landed the pen, forever in your debt.
Separation became a necessity to survive in this world,
yet, the only time I felt relieved was when you used a familiar page.
often I was not able to ooze out of your protective shell obstructing your motion.
So you just pushed me out like a thrust given to the pen
I  blurted out and fell on my heart, as an ink spilling out on the page.
But I felt your ardor and tried to maintain my pattern
You molded me into words when all I knew was raw.
The words began to form sentences, sentences that had to mean, now I, was a meaning.
I started thinking that everything fell into place and my world was perfect,
but then something unimaginable happened as if my world had turned upside down.
The page turned.
you leaped, just as a pen leaps to the next page.
A new world started, with the same blueprint but a nonidentical atmosphere.
I was still a meaning, but a difficult one.
you weren’t there, but I was, in some other protective cover which was very uncanny.
My work was still the same, gambling and shuffling myself into various words until it made sense,
but this time it was hard. I had a purpose, a motive which I didn’t quite understand.
i yearned for you, because you were the only safe shell in which I was me, in which I was just a raw ink, ready to play myself into jeopardy, breathe into the abstract and reach where the lines of a ruled page ended because I knew you were there all along, with me through it all.
I never wanted to be a part of a fancy pen or an expensive marker. I just wanted something to arrive into, to retire from, and just be, cause you were what mattered the most, you were home.
I discovered that the journey that I had joined was known as a story, a series of events of someone, in this case, me. depicting their experiences and incidents. The many pages were clubbed into chapters now and the collective chapters were called as a novel. I knew the story was beautiful, the filled pages along with the empty spaces were outstanding, but what caught me there, what intrigued me the most was the pen, the extraordinary pen, the architect of it all, the creator, the pen was my inspiration, it was my inception, you, were my inception. You were home.

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