Writing to me is a funny thing to look back at. When I almost resolved not to try my hand at writing, it just came back to me, as stronger & fiercer as ever. I now write this piece to check on myself where I stand. Owing to the repercussions on personal front, I almost forgot how it feels to write. But when I retrospect, its the only saving grace I've ever resorted to.
Writing, on the other hand, serves as a period dysfunctional outlet to me. That's one thing which I sometimes hate but it never hates me by not letting me mumble for words when I need them the most. That crown pizza and the conversation over it triggered the dying interest inside me to try frisking my pen again.
However, when reading pushed the writing to back seat, it silently turned its back on me and occupied the last row. It never retaliated. It just behaved as if it knew me and I would get back to it in no time and so I did. Settling for less seemed comfortable, non fussy but projecting myself to those risky meanders of life by giving myself a chance to live thousands of lives in one now seems the fitting choice.
When all said and done, rain drops were pouring down.
I with a dying stub in my hand ran my fingers through my hair.
I slurped the tea from my cup and stared ahead at the dawn.
It silently pointed its looks to the destiny that smilingly settled far off there.
Ambition never did bad to them. It served the purpose of personal success. On the bigger picture, it gave them much nobler causes to live & die for. For me, to embellish my world with those little, lucid & known words, here stands the last chance. To grit it out, to pen it down and to wave it off - comfortably in the faces of creed obsessed fascists.
Here it is, Writing is calling. For good or bad, the path found and treading it begins shortly. This may sound as an instigated ambition but a good 3 days of thought went into this.
Writing, on the other hand, serves as a period dysfunctional outlet to me. That's one thing which I sometimes hate but it never hates me by not letting me mumble for words when I need them the most. That crown pizza and the conversation over it triggered the dying interest inside me to try frisking my pen again.
However, when reading pushed the writing to back seat, it silently turned its back on me and occupied the last row. It never retaliated. It just behaved as if it knew me and I would get back to it in no time and so I did. Settling for less seemed comfortable, non fussy but projecting myself to those risky meanders of life by giving myself a chance to live thousands of lives in one now seems the fitting choice.
When all said and done, rain drops were pouring down.
I with a dying stub in my hand ran my fingers through my hair.
I slurped the tea from my cup and stared ahead at the dawn.
It silently pointed its looks to the destiny that smilingly settled far off there.
Ambition never did bad to them. It served the purpose of personal success. On the bigger picture, it gave them much nobler causes to live & die for. For me, to embellish my world with those little, lucid & known words, here stands the last chance. To grit it out, to pen it down and to wave it off - comfortably in the faces of creed obsessed fascists.
Here it is, Writing is calling. For good or bad, the path found and treading it begins shortly. This may sound as an instigated ambition but a good 3 days of thought went into this.
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