Click, click, click.

Failed attempt at writing poetry, because when the “poetic fervour” caught on (for lack of a less pompous term), I realised I didn’t have anything to write in.

Oh dear.

I must admit the ideas were really good though. Especially this one idea, I was really excited about it. Desperately hoping it catches on sometime soon again. Have it noted down, but until I FEEL that urge there’s no point in trying to write because it will feel fake and I will feel like a wannabe pseudo-intellectual and nothing will SOUND write in my heart. so there.

Lesson learnt- from now on I will stick to my diary like a leech. Wherever I go, the book goes. Because insights are everywhere- in the most fleeting of glimpses and the most careless of comments, the bitterest experiences and sweetest feelings. Life is that way. Reality is tumultous and transient and beautiful in its grief, in its conflicts, in its anti-theses. So wherever I go, the feeling might catch a hold of me.

Since I have no poetry to put up today, I’ll put up a string of memories. Like pearls on a necklace, only even more priceless. Because this is life. This is the basis of my poetry. What I see and feel and what leaves its print on my heart.

The beautiful, innocent smile of joy untainted by ugly truth. A flash of white against the deepest brown. Your joy touched my heart, boy. It made me smile too when I remembered a time when I shared your joy just as uninhibitedly, just as shyly.

The quiet birds, sitting in their cages, white feathers puffed out, red crown bobbing up and down. Pink eyes bleeding tears. Soon you will head to the slaughterhouse and perhaps i will enjoy your tender flesh. such hypocrisy. And yet, and yet… what of the tiger who feasts on the deer? That is Nature, a part of Nature, so natural. Guilt plays no part there. So does Creation really exist on Death? is Destruction a necessary part of Creation? Is that why Conflict exists? I don’t know, I wish I knew.

Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done xD

Peace means… the present. That moment, suspended in time, when there is silence, a comfortable, companionable silence, filled perhaps with the laughter of someone else. You smile on hearing them laugh, and you KNOW you are where you ought to be. You and the other are one. They are the same. Peace is an afternoon with Saher, or Neeraja. Peace is playing on the wet cane mat on the floor, sunlight filtering through the window. Peace is… a comfortable, silent evening with my dad, both of us working. Peace is… cooking with my mom. Peace is… that moment when I know I’m happy, unconsciously, in my heart.

Will there really be peace when I’m done? Will I stop mourning and lamenting then?

I hope so. 

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