And The Pen Wrote

Arzu Okumuş
5 minutes

The one we held in our hands before we could even speak properly. That we mediate so that our words find other interlocutors. Our companion who is always with us on our journey through life. A tool for making words permanent, of which we produce various types such as lead, ballpoint and fountain. The pen… In our bag, on our desk or in a drawer, between our books and notebooks, in the collar pocket of our shirt, in the inside pocket of our jacket and even in our hand, always near us, always around us, always with us. Pen. In all the exams we take, in all the accounts we keep, in all the letters we write; in the first drafts of whatever novel, story, poetry book we publish, we consume countless… Pen. When asked, when they say “No”, we reprimand them by saying, “What kind of a student or teacher are you?” Pen. In stationery stores, kiosks, neighborhood grocery stores, supermarkets; everywhere we look for it, we can easily find it, there is no black market. Pen. And the one we most often gift to our loved ones.

I could tell you dozens of stories about the pen. The pen, the beloved that we are never faithful to, that we consume and throw away, that we replace with new ones, that we cheat with quality and branded ones and that we cannot do without. We use pencils roughly. We chisel and chisel and consume. We’ll gnaw your head off. Sometimes we don’t like what they write and we delete it. So we finish a pencil for nothing. But first of all, the pencil has sacrificed itself to our inexperienced hands that do not know how to hold a pencil. And moreover, we, who keep almost all the firsts in our lives as souvenirs, would not know the color of our first pencil if asked. Ballpoint pen. Even though its name is inexhaustible, it is the pen we always consume. They are at hand when we want to leave lasting words, indelible traces, when we need a signature. We don’t need to have ink if we have a ballpoint pen. But there comes a time when it runs out just when we need it, and it stops writing. At that moment we deny that it is we who are consuming it, and we vomit out our anger, we even swear at it. Especially if that ballpoint pen has leaked into our pocket, we will make that pen regret that it is a pen. And our fountain pens. The one we’re the least rough with. The rare ones we keep for a lifetime and bequeath to our grandchildren. With whom we write our important articles with care. Artwork is created from letters with a fountain pen. No pen can string the pearls of love in our hearts as beautifully as a fountain pen. The lover is drunk, the paper is drunk, the word is drunk, the lover is drunk from what is written.

Nowadays, the noblest of pens, the fountain pen, is no longer respected in the lives of people of the modern age. There are all kinds of pens now. Phosphorus, non-phosphorus; glitter, silver, silvery; extreme, endless; even smart, unintelligent. Pilot pens were invented. There are no more loves as precious as pearls on paper, nor are there any more people who give fountain pens as gifts to their loved ones. Nice! A fountain pen is not enough to fill hollow loves…

If only pens had a language, they could tell us about us. Whether you are looking for fights over pens, scoldings, beatings… But I think the saddest stories belong to the pens that break in the hands of judges. Pens break, it is the name of an irrevocable decision. Pens break, breaths are counted one by one. Pens break, seas sail into the ocean of eternity. In short, the stories of the pens are often sad.

There is no shortage of pens with beautiful stories. It is good to be the pen of a famous novelist, poet or painter. Millions admire what they write and draw. It is good to be the pen of the one on the right of the scribe angels. Because what he writes is a ticket to heaven. But there is a pen that Allah has even sworn on it. It is thanks to the Pen that a sura in the Holy Qur’an is named after it. It is the pen that has kept a record of the entire universe down to the smallest particle. What a lucky pen that pen is. To be the king of pens. To be closest to the Creator. To be complimented by him. Never running out… That pen has many stories to tell, about us humans who do not know the value of the pen.

If pencils have a prayer, I think this is it.

Oh God! Don’t let me fall into the hands of the unworthy.

Oh God! Put it in the hands of people with beautiful hearts who will write about the good, the beautiful and the useful.

Oh God! Grant me ink that never runs out and a tip that never ends.

Oh God! Help my brothers and sisters who are pushed into a corner under the oppression of the Q Keyboard and F Keyboard.

Oh God! And gather me under the banner of the Shah of the Pencils, upon whom you have written the Holy Qur’an and sworn an oath.

Oh God! Give this human being reason, wisdom and compassion. (Amen)

One day this world life will end. All pens will be ground. What we write with the pen will become dust. And we humans will become dust. Only what that first created pen wrote will remain. Whatever we use our pen for, let us not forget this. Our fate will be at the end of a pen. Otherwise our situation is worse than that of the pen…

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