Fading Desires

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 :(

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