Monday, February 9, 2015

To write or not to write;Birthday post

Eyes wide open to the best of its vision and brain arduously working to the best of its notion. Is it that we write as our interest may merely lead us to. Is it not that we write because we feel only writing could sustain happiness in us, to feel the gap of our weirdest thoughts. In the middle of dark still night when my friends lay asleep with their eyes closed and mouth wide open, zealous am I with a blank page fighting every second to knit my obscured thoughts into the beautifully embroidered sentences. A swirling fan and the cold night adds inspiration to my inquisitive mind though.

Most of the time I am out of the post because my writings are way too personal, of course every writings are personal. To read to find as weird as person like me and to write to put rout to my misery has become a motto of my pallid life. Those young days of my cocooned self, those obstacles and miseries that laid before me beyond the age I bear are but the fuel to my writing. Only those were facets which made me as hard as stone and a firm man that I am today. 

Is it because an end to my wild teenage period that triggered sleepless night in me? Those were the days when I was matured before my age with the utmost wanting to be an adult and now I am today. Oh! I cant believe my sense and fathom the swindling nature of time. Nah! I am not twenty because the more I grow up the more immature I sense myself to be and today I am back to seventeen and eighteen where my eyes laid focused on her and only on her and no one else. I can clearly fancy her bizarre physique and her sad countenance. Those where the days when my heart was shattered until I meet thee, and it was a new beginning; a beginning which has got no ending. 

" I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I would believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything,'' F.Scott Fitzgerald. And I believe when the conscience is pure where thoughts are not marred by the malady of dubiousness that love comes at the best it should be.

Now I write not because I am a happy writer but I am happy when I write. Why not write when we are so inspired by the twists and turns of the events in our life? A writer shall write as far as his obsession may lead to and a mere interest or the imitation may not yield a good product.

3 comments:

  1. A very touching touching piece nubay!! Keep it up bro!!

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