Many a times this question is asked why one writes. I was asked this question and I gave some answer or tried avoiding to answer. Couple of days back while I was having my morning coffee, the answer came to my mind as a poem that I jotted down. Is that the answer? Honestly, I don’t know. However, each and every word in the poem is true.
I forget the world
when I write,
I do not even know
what I write,
Only thing I know,
no, I feel,
there is a light
that shines,
and shows me the way,
the fingers move,
they are mine,
but they are not,
I do not have
any control,
I know not
the words that
come out,
Know not what
they mean,
I feel as if
my soul leaves me,
light and feathery,
it takes flight,
and when all is done,
I am back,
and I am me,
atleast what I
think is me,
there is such
an exhilaration
in writing,
I feel I die
and come back to
earth again.
Just love this poem. And understand what you mean. And I know my elder brother would too. May the light keep on shining, my friend!
May your poetry never stop.
Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you so much.
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Yes, I understand what you’re saying in such a beautiful way. It does often feel that the words are there, they are not mine, they write themselves. Even a novel. The story exists and is simply using my clumsy fingers for expression.
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yes. if I start thinking, I can’t write. and even if I write, it feels forced.
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It seems to be a question of translating a feeling/story into the right words, that the feeling/story exists outside language.
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🙏🙏”feeling/story exists outside language” – I think so.
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WOW! Wish it worked like that for me, PB. 🙂
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Let it come to you, the feeling and you will see how rewarding it is.
Don’t make it another job. Unfortunately we are trained to think to work and survive.
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Excellent poem
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Thank you so much for reading and your comment.
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