The words we write.

Time and again, I wonder why do I even make an effort at writing? There’s an infinite number of people out there , infinitely more talented at it, churning out beauty at the utterence of every word, making every keystroke a thing of bliss. But then all that fails to fathom what I desire. Maybe it’s the pleasure of having my most innate thoughts down in words, maybe it’s alchemy, converting all the abstractions of my heart and mind into tangible letters I can see, maybe it’s a fucking apology to what I vent up within. And I’d rather watch the world beautifully burn away rather than lay aside the addresal of all that constitutes me. 

Fear. Love. Hate. Apathy. Happiness. Arrogance. Purely basic emotional quantifiers, yet if an prose fails to convey these, it’s still not human. Not just these, but many more…infinitisimally more quantum of emotions is what writing is about, it isn’t as much about the words as much as it is about the essence behind them. All forms of writing comes out of a basic need to quantify, to provide a framework…a mirror, looking into the depths a person otherwise fails to acknowledge them. You cannot walk around singing poems, you do not paint the skies when you walk under it, but you do observe the world as you pass by it. You create parallels, draw judgements, make arguments, jotting dowm every sight and sound into bits of memory, bits that add up and finally become the very part of you. And maybe that is what I try to write. Not because I can, not because I want to, but because to write, is to have felt the need to write. we can’t sleep under the stars, you don’t carve our names onto trees,you can’t walk endlessly in fields of clover, but we desire to, and putting them down in words are the nearest these desires come to being acknowledged. 

The blue in you

Now you only dream in peaceful blue,
And the morning doesn’t even scare you, anymore.
A phoenix with your feathers still bright,
The ashes burn forever in your eyes.

Cobwebs and rainbows

Early dew on cobweb strings,

tempting the winds to shake ‘em off,

trinkets of light fills up the doorways,

and all that’s left, are rainbow hues.  

Pretending not to care,

pretending not to know,

caught in the cobwebs of life;

we so easliy let go,

the bright sunshine dripping through the shades.

we so easliy forget,

that we chased the clouds over the hill,

so that one fine day, over the greens,

we would be the rainbows that once filled the skies.

My looking glass

You fill up,

the borders of the mirror,

my life reflects upon.

Within the realms of the looking glass,

that houses my soul,

I find a billion songs scribbled,

all rhyming in words and essence,

to the sounds of your name.