Journey with Words


September 25, 2018


It had been a gradual unveiling, the essence of what I mustn’t serve. But then, the question still burnishes as bright as before – What is it that my heart could haemorrhage in the form of verses?

Even at the beginning of this epoch of my writing journey, I had been, but blind, to the concrete form of this idea of an intangible, invisible language of hearts, I was deprived of the means to delve into the different subjects that sculpted this old language. This eternal feeling was only a silhouette then, giving but a vague glimpse, a wild guess, about what miracles the daylight of understanding would reveal in the shadows intricate folds. My heart was asleep to the magic touch that would arouse its spirits, to give wings to the restless wisps of bodyless thoughts that prowled my mind.

And I was unaware of such a need – of my imperative requirement of some magical arrow released by the songbirds of the language of silence that would be delivered to stir the heart. And in vain, I did what foolish deed I did best – to wander amorously, wide around the world, trying to drench out goblets of essence from many a book; and most often than not, I only found seducingly scented wisps of air that would diffuse and disappear in days.

But at the end came my stumble across a book – one more of only a couple I had discovered from that class of rich rarity – a classic work of Nathaniel Hawthorne. And in the profound moonlight of my already plaguing guilt about not uncaging enough words, and a mind soaked in the draught of the essence drenched out of every book I had held so far, the deep flames of profoundness that burned from within the dull pages of this old book transformed into something new.

A flock of sleeping songbirds that serenaded only the songs of silence woke. And from their eyes, shone a new realm, that, having existed timelessly, had never once been beheld by my eyes – nay, even my heart. But suddenly, I was awake to sympathies and feelings that were unique to the deep human heart. I could have called it a moment’s awakening. And the silhouette that had, for quite some time then, been acquiring a faint color from my new fascination with imagining a magic within mundane objects and the mystery of nature, suddenly sparkled with a richness of hue. The vague idea of the matters of human hearts acquired a crystallinity, and the sudden urge to release the songbirds from within my heart took over me.

And in this sombre mood illumined by another internal glimpse, my so far feebly stirring passion – a.k.a writing- took the form of a soldier in chains, wanting to aggressively fight his way out of his confines and into the broad sunshine of people’s world…

And this was the end of another epoch and the beginning of this story…


To be continued…

(Picture courtesy: Pinterest)


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