I
have been wanting & meaning to write for a very long time now. I
have thought of witty one liners which had the potential to drag my
sleeping brains out of the banality it has been cushioning itself in,
pulsating ideas that crossed my thoughts like a flash, about the trivial
complains that seemed larger than life to write about, & so much
more. But every time I actually thought about writing it all down, the
sheer effort of writing & thinking became humongous in front of the
easier escapes of doing my daily chores.
I
wonder if soon I will never write. The thought scares me, shakes me up
& then follows a small, nondescript effort towards writing. Every
time I delay a paragraph that was destined to be written, I feel this
huge pang of guilt, I feel the faint gaze filled with disappointment
& sadness far away from my hometown. The gaze that scares &
shames me but that almost at the same time is pleading for me to come
out of the trance that I have willingly entered.
Life
off-late has been too full of friends, family, & some more friends.
It feels really good to be amidst so many people who you love. But then
it sticks to you like a bad habit, a need you can't seem to shake off
however hard you try. The isolation & the lonely corners that I had
so painstakingly guarded all my adult life seems to be slipping away
from me & out of my own accord. Almost like I am doing it willingly,
at least when I look at it now in retrospect. But it has been feeling
good, almost happy state of being. But whenever a lonely moment sneaks
up on me, I feel this surge of guilt, a guilt I can't seem to explain, a
guilt for not being sad, for not writing, for not even trying to write
of mundane things. That is the best way in which I can put it.
I
will write the entire day today, meaning the entire day while I am at
work. Since, there isn't much left to do for the day here in my office.
No pending tasks, my desk/computer/schedule looks almost clear. So, I
have decided to write to shake myself off of the stupor I have gone
into. I will write anything that comes to my head, complains, lines that
appear like poetry in my head, beginning of stories that have always
been there in head, confessions, whatever that flashes through my head. I
need to get the shit out of the system to come back to feeling sacred
about writing. I need to flush the smaller things that obstruct me from
writing to be able to write more willingly, fluidly. The last few times I
have written in the last one year or so, I have always felt stiff, like
I am just doing it for the sake of it, just to keep up formalities with
myself. Just so that I can please & not disappoint the inner me who
still cherishes my dream of writing.
Blackness of the dark
eludes
dizzy, happy eyes.
Denials linger
deep.
Death
seems to evade.
Pain
never knocks
the sublime.
Dainty figurines
decorate lives.
Glass strewn floor
never pierces the marble cold flesh.
Sun continues
to play shadow
to decorate the empty corners.
Spiders crawl
under the virgin skin of Artemis.
Lost anger
appear in flashes
& then the realization, the wait
of the break-down
that melts existence.
The desire to write the entire day fades after a meeting, lunch break, & a pep talk by the manager :(
