I was thinking for a while, as to what and how to write, it came across my mind why not try and start putting down all these scribbling and juggling thoughts into words if not so proper sentences. The trouble is to calm the mind, sit down, arrange the thoughts and write (typing actually!) I am not a writer and thus there is no question of writer’s block. But what has set my mind into utter chaos is my inability to decide what to stick onto. There are always lots of thinking, reflecting and analysing stuff going on in most of our lives. There is so much in and out to write or not to write, to talk or not to talk and in the end at least feel. Eyes bear a relentless saga of unheard and untold stories, so thus heart! Whom to tell, who shall listen?
Gazing the evening sky, the change in colours of the flowing clouds from grey to slightly orange, the white clouds forming small patterns in the blue sky, and with little music around, it can easily set a mood right for a poem or a painting if one is passionate about it.
These days the talk of the era is more of social media than that of corona(covid-19) with both good and bad implications all around. Publishing or not publishing a post doesn’t necessarily justify anything, because a lot of time you give a post for the sake of giving and you don’t feel it. Again, many a times you feel it but you don’t post it.
Everything that was going on is under halt or transition and so much more. It is quite difficult to simplify or validate the happenings with less or no prejudices. Too much of suffering in every threshold, sometimes brought into light through news or else gone into non-existence with no tale deciphered.
Memories are rosier than reality, as said. We as human beings often tend to hover around our past. We keep on revisiting and replaying past memories on and off, over and over to keep alive the feel-good vibe. The wonderful power so called memory is not just a boon but also a curse! After being away from home for quite a while, changes are distinctly visible, not just in the faded colour of the bedsheet that was used earlier but also in the arrangement of the little things. The new order or actually the new mess is much more beautiful yet strings are always attached to the old. Perhaps out of nature, once this becomes habituated and old, it will definitely strike a chord right into the heart.
As expressed earlier, I couldn’t cling to one single thought and elaborate, for my mind is so stuffy these days much like you all; sometimes right here in the present or back to the past and sometimes unknowingly into future.
Aaiyaa, coffee doesn’t help!
But a poem by Charles Bukowski might help,