Life is a puzzle; we are the clues, and God is the answer.
The Thirtieth Page
My pen, she’s almost done
Writing on the current page;
Few more scrawls and soon
She’d be turning another leaf.
The next leaf, smooth and glossy,
It’s the diary’s thirtieth page;
Still a blank, clean surface
On which my pen’d pirouette
Maybe with a black or blue ink
Or why not red, pink or green;
With lines graceful and thin
Turns planned and disciplined.
But will my pen be singing
Or perhaps be a-crying?
Will she leave marks of laughter
Or perhaps stains of pain?
Will her scrawls be legible
Or hopelessly unfathomable?
Will her lines and loops be meaningful
Or simply pathetic scribbles? .
//Sherma E. Benosa
14 October 2007; 1:07pm
(The Thirtieth Page II)
It was blank, but now it isn’t
The first smear, the first tint
They glisten amidst the once
Blank page. The scrawls
Of my pen, I can’t yet discern.
The pen’s pirouetting still.
I see the letters, I read the words
But where they will end,
And when, I can’t yet tell.
There I see a pause, a short one;
My pen’s contemplating what to write;
Looking into the vast expanse beyond
And into the abyss within
There’s so much I have yet to fill.
Reading again what has been written
On the pages my pen had walked on
I see reasons to keep writing still —
Lines I have yet to expound
Good thoughts I have yet to share
Sentences I have yet to finish
Meanings I have yet to seek.
There are still leaves I need to turn
And pages I must fill.
Yes, my pen’s scribbling still.
//25 March 200812:15am; My thirtieth birthday