For my second love, writing...
I wonder whom am I turned into, once I begin to shape my thoughts & emotions. And give them a shade to repose.
An ineffably beautiful state of mind and body where I am bestowed unmeasurable ecstasy and I just can’t stop thinking about what all magic has this universe withheld to shower on me.
I harmonize myself with that one secret dimension of poems and proses.
Summoning the utopian assemblage of words for myself.
These amalgamations are
peculiar sometimes & flawed sometimes
broken sometimes & me sometimes
That one emotion
That one thought
just strikes me like a meteorite & the creator within shape shifts into a volcano of words.
The emotions and the thoughts, providing the impulse to burst out!
I give company to my solitude and spill them out…
And there is an ocean around this volcano and my poetic lava simply swims to its bottom. Resting there peacefully. Giving meaning to itself.
And there is a cosmos above this volcano, at times this impulse is too great to handle, so it shoots a lightening
Up it goes, tearing the sky.
Surrendering to infinity.
Resting in the arms of eternity.
But being gifted with this onus of a creator isn’t any easy thing. Getting stuck abruptly, does happen. And the intensity of uneasiness is equally indefinable alike the beauty of being a creator.
So I rummage the secret dimension. But this makes the precious joy no less.
For I believe, this wild rummaging captivates its own figure of beauty.