A blank page lies on my desk
Clean and pure
It lines crisp and hard
I sit in front of it and take up my weapon,
my tool, my pen
It touches the blank sheet
I begin the dance of thought in my mind
The blank page
It taunts and teases me
It scares and thrills me
It threatens and entices me
It haunts and frees me
This must be how a painter feels
about a blank canvas
full of infinite possibilities
and infinite questions
I start
My pen plays across the page
It flies and leaves its trail of blue ink for others to read
These pages become thought incarnate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful! I loved this thought......each artist must face it at the start....with his canvas