Photo by John-Mark Smith from Pexels
My father insisted that I use fountain pens and avoid 
the curse of illegibility that ball pens induce.
He spent evenings at my foldable desk

in the yellow ghost of sober candlelight
overseeing the alignment of the eye of my i,
matching the curvature of my c to the crescent of waning moon,

enforcing the dictum of one finger gap
between the military parade of my words.
I wrote my first love letter in that indoctrinated hand

to a girl studying graphology who discerned
the possibility of a romance from the stroke of my f.
If any other benefits awaited the symphony that my pen

could sing, they were stolen by the robotic fonts
of computers , deleted by the mechanical scowl of tap tap tap,
defeated, all twenty six, by banal ones and zeros.

The ashes of my father must blaze in the bed of Ganges
with every tap of the keyboard that types these verses
in Calibri, a hand he did not teach me; or does he chuckle

at my wife, the graphologist, whose professional analysis
to all the people that type and type is always in binary,
or does he oversee God writing my life in an immaculate hand?

9 Comments Add yours

  1. rothpoetry says:

    What a great poem! I love it… Seems like all we hold dear and special changes in our lifetime! Love the ending of your poem.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. rothpoetry says:

        You are welcome!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. johnlmalone says:

    this is a magnificent poem; I am putting it into my commonplace book !!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. arhanak says:

      Glad you love it. Thank you for reading. It would be honoured to find a place in your commonplace book.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. johnlmalone says:

        your work is worth following; I value your comments too; thank you 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      2. arhanak says:

        Thank you, John. You made my day !

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Thanks for your follow of my blog and in so doing, introducing me to yours. I enjoy what I see!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. arhanak says:

      Thank you, Mary.


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