It is just a starless sea..

It was all over when the drastic reality punches me with the harsh actuality. The society has taught me the horrendous ambience, while I am growing. When Robert Frost was puzzled to select two roads in front of him, he took the road less travelled. I too am a traveller, yet I couldn’t able to distinguish whether there is a road or not. I was just flowing through the current of stream without any emotions. The motion has started when I felt the disorientation of time. Time — she is a mysterious woman preserving her own personality and attitude — yet she is a good companion. She never asks anything in return for her companionship.

At my heart’s core, I build a cloister where I can walk with my own self. I always strived to paint my soul with colourful patterns. With a chromatic mind, I want to put the feelings of my heart into the paper. Alas! I couldn’t get enough colours from the path of my life, it was all black. Yes, I am a writer- a person who carefully sorting different alphabets by trying different permutations and combinations in order to give a meaning to those scrambled words. With a dark void in my heart, my poems are looking back to me with illuminating black. One after another, I poured a little bit of blackness in my writing. Augmentation of blackness continued till I craved for the redness from my vein. My writings are born from the perspective of society. For the sake of their interest, I am moving my pen, without hurting their feelings.

I am a writer, or am I just a puppet in the hands of people? Haiku, limerick, acrostic everything flows from my pen but none of them has my soul in it. It was a sparking moment when I realized that, I am a lattice -a shapeless structure filled with void. Having a life with distorted and programmed mind is a fearful one.

I felt the buoyancy over and below. My fingers are moving through the bleeding thoughts.The more I progressed on the real world, intrinsically I am contracted into tiny point in my world. Life under slavery is inexplicable. Even though we look for a serenity, we can’t find it. Dearth of voice, controlling thoughts by others, I am writing a poem for them:

“Well well, it is a morning again,

Breathe! But not much as I do,

Walk! not a mile beyond,

Do, but not anything exceptional.

My path is ahead of you

Follow me to get your goal

Less risks are laid for your comfort

Shaping anything else will make you distort.

Flowing water is a boon for you.

You don’t need to roam around

Feel the flow and glow the path

Free to move with the mass.

Be rich with existing ideas

Never search for anything new

Ideas may kill you in inches

Don’t lose yourself in the process.

Imagination is a trap

Well mended in the web of lies

Choose your wisdom

Do, but not anything exceptional.

Half way through the poem, I took a pause. Sometimes, pause is better than moving. I found solace at water. Waves after waves are kissing my feet and now I am realized I am a wordless poet, looking into a starless sea, roaming in a road most travelled.