This entry is about why my blog is…
Around a 100 pages in 10 years may not be all that much, and it isn’t. That was exactly what I felt when I sat down to think about it, reflecting on what a waste I had made of my talents in writing. Then my baby started taking shape, ten years in the making, an outburst of all those lines I should have written, but didn’t and all those thoughts I have to pen down, but may not be able to…
Laziness clogged my veins and more importantly, my mind. It brought me a thousand deaths within me, but I live. Animals hibernate to wake up some day. This animal woke up too, after a long 10-year sleep. The mind does not have its previous sharpness; the words just will not come. Devoid of feelings and words, I almost suffered creative death.
I feel with each passing word a sense of belonging. This is what I do best and this is what should be done best by me. The passion to let the memories flow, from the center of the brain, to my fingertips holding the pen which became the extension of my hands years before; onto the whiteness of the paper that caused many a tree to be felled…
The words that died inside me frightens me to no end, it should have lived. My grandfathers words come back to comfort me, “nothing can bring back the dead, but nothing can take away the new born too…”
And that’s why I write, even if it means walking down painful memories, tearing away fiction from life. This is what I enjoy; this is what I truly need. This is what I was born for, and this is what I will live for. But am I getting across to people? Is anybody out there listening and comprehending?
In lands as diverse as the U.S, Dubai and Delhi, people staring at 17 inch monitors, running their eyes from the left to the right on a web page called Greeker… bear witness.
Around a 100 pages in 10 years may not be all that much, and it isn’t. That was exactly what I felt when I sat down to think about it, reflecting on what a waste I had made of my talents in writing. Then my baby started taking shape, ten years in the making, an outburst of all those lines I should have written, but didn’t and all those thoughts I have to pen down, but may not be able to…
Laziness clogged my veins and more importantly, my mind. It brought me a thousand deaths within me, but I live. Animals hibernate to wake up some day. This animal woke up too, after a long 10-year sleep. The mind does not have its previous sharpness; the words just will not come. Devoid of feelings and words, I almost suffered creative death.
I feel with each passing word a sense of belonging. This is what I do best and this is what should be done best by me. The passion to let the memories flow, from the center of the brain, to my fingertips holding the pen which became the extension of my hands years before; onto the whiteness of the paper that caused many a tree to be felled…
The words that died inside me frightens me to no end, it should have lived. My grandfathers words come back to comfort me, “nothing can bring back the dead, but nothing can take away the new born too…”
And that’s why I write, even if it means walking down painful memories, tearing away fiction from life. This is what I enjoy; this is what I truly need. This is what I was born for, and this is what I will live for. But am I getting across to people? Is anybody out there listening and comprehending?
In lands as diverse as the U.S, Dubai and Delhi, people staring at 17 inch monitors, running their eyes from the left to the right on a web page called Greeker… bear witness.
1 comment:
I hereby witness to the fact that this site is running.
-Sd. DUBAI.
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