Pardon me, I insist, I am too tired for this.
The morning has been a sweaty one,
my beats have been shooting a weird gun.
I am not at all aware, when how and where,
did all my lines, the stored truck of words just drooled out and messed it all.
They are all spread now in the veins looking like roads, speeding up and then syncing low.
Excuse me, I request, you must know, my mind’s no fest.
Choked and gasped between the if & the and.
I am ached now in my head, in comma between, I am half dead.
They are slowly back, and now murmured, we were out of your mind
on a marathon.
So, some of the above lines you just read might have given you some idea about why I write. More than giving a voice to my soul through long lines and lengthy paragraphs, I mostly play with words through poetry.
I write to live and live to write. Writing to me is like air is to human beings. I can’t live without it. We (writing and myself) are like partners who might fight through the day. We may end up unhappy and tired but the day doesn’t end without each other. It is like marriage. Together, we spend some days of excitement after having completed a beautiful chapter of experience. Sometimes, one faces a writer’s block, a creative slowdown. But still, I want to move forward and never give up.
According to my memory, I was seven when I wrote my first poem. I shared the exhilaration of all the celebrations and the gifts that I received, thanks to the playful little vocabulary I knew at the time. I had crafted a blank ivory paper, from my first handmade diary, into curvy blues with those fairy tale words of poetry. It was so overwhelming even then to accept that this would be one special gift that will be cherished and treasured for the rest of my life. This was going to be my one constant friend. Writing became my soulmate.
Throughout the years, I unintentionally went away from writing as I tried to find solace in all the worldly fancies that a growing individual could get attracted to. Today, as I sit back and introspect, I realise that nothing worked. I realise that I wasted a lot of my time pondering over trivial circumstances of life before finally rediscovering my passion to write. So now, I write and speak my heart out. I fill those blank pages with the rainbow of colours from my heart and mind.
Over time, I have learnt a lot about the existence of writing in my life. It has helped make my emotions more tangible and also helped me to express them more creatively. The barriers that I had built within myself have been broken down by writing. My soul is no longer non-vocal about the chaos inside. It is very clear that the medium does not matter; what is most important is being able to express the emotions and feelings piling up inside. In my case, I find peace in writing. It might be different for you or for someone else.
Sometimes, I wake up at 3 am from a bad dream and then spend a sleepless night. Writing keeps me awake as long as it needs to.
Writing represents the voice of my subconscious mind and its deepest thoughts. It helps me realise what my conscious self would have never told me.
Writing, to me, is like early morning meditation. It supports me and answers my infinite questions. It lets how I feel, how my day shall progress. It helps make sense of what I experience through the day. Writing is my daily planner, my life’s diary.
It is a therapy for me. It makes me feel like an achiever every time I am recognised for my writing. The times when I’m not, I still feel wiser for having written. It brings out the joy inside my introvert self. As The Dalai Lama says, “The ultimate source of happiness is within us.” Writing is my ultimate source of happiness.
That’s the reason I write.