A writer does not play with the words. A writer wrestles with the words. There’s only few times when the words just flow like a river. Most of the times its a struggle. Struggle to not leave the blank page blank and most of the times the blank pages wins. Theres a war of sentences inside the head. A writer isn’t a magician. Writing does not emerge by the aid of wands. Word by word, sentence by sentence are given birth to when incidents are recalled, relived and remade. It is formed as a result of the restlessness. As a result of all the agony the writer goes through before writing. All the pain that is felt before the blank page becomes a vessel. Sometimes the end is not known and sometimes the beginning and worst of all are the ones that fit not in either. Sometimes it takes your all. Sometimes it’s smooth other times rough. But moreover a writer is a person who keeps writing inspite all. A writer is a person who doesn’t give up because writing isn’t just playing with words.
I will trust you.
I will trust again.
Even if my trust has been slivered a million times before.
I will. Because I don’t want you to feel how it feels like when someone cannot trust you not because of you but because of someone else who hadn’t been trustworthy.
I will trust you because I don’t want you to pay for the mistakes someone in the past made.
I will trust you even though I know one day you will dissappoint me.
But moreover I will do it for the small ray of hope in me that tells me you won’t do what others did.
I will trust your promises of forever, that might not last long.
I will trust your I love you’s that you might have told millions before and after.
But I will trust you.
I will trust you so that the next time you approach someone with your promises, you will think twice.
You will take into consideration the effort it takes them to accept that you will actually keep them.
And lastly I will trust you for myself.
Because this is the way life is, isn’t it?
I will trust you so that when someday Karma takes a check I shall finally be with someone who knows how to keep promises.
When I was little I always wondered of the day I’d turn eighteen. How I’d do stuffs I’d always wanted to do. I’d be a free bird waiting to explore the limits of this limitless sky. So yesterday I turned 18. But I wonder where all of that excitement went away. I wasn’t even feeling what I usually felt during birthdays. Maybe I’ve hit the phase of maturity where I’ve realised that birthdays only bring you a year closer to the day you are supposed to die. There was nothing exciting about 18, even cutting the cake seemed soo childish. And the stuffs that I always wanted to do don’t interest me anymore. I don’t want to be the free bird. Rather I long for the feeling that feels like home. But somehow home isn’t home no more. It’s just four walls of brick and mud. If at all I ask for anything it’s to be a child once more. But the more important question is WHY IS IT SO? What happened to the child who had soo many dreams for her future? And what happens to those dreams? I’ll tell you. The child gets lost in this world finding it’s own identity. Lost between ‘who I am’ and ‘who the world wants me to be’. And when finally it thinks that they are now ready to fit into this world they are made to feel they still lack something. The world pushes them down in the mud. Tired. Exhausted. They forget to dream anymore. They can’t dare to be hurt again. And those dreams, well they get buried deep in their hearts. They get stamped and trampled over. This is what the world does to them. It makes them feel worthless,they take away their ‘happy’ and still come around wishing ‘happy birthday’
When the whole world tells you that ‘you are changed’ and at a moment you can no longer believe the lie you tell yourself every morning that you have not. The world might notice the change but they would never know what the reason is. No one would want to know. At that moment in life you have only two people there for you. It’s the ‘you -that you are now’ and the ‘you – that you used to be’. Its like that beautiful harmony between the past and the future.
THE ONE I USED TO BE.
I no longer remember
How I passed the day
When I had nothing to bawl about
And had so much to say
And I no longer remember
When 2 am wasn’t so scary
No bloodcurdling thought haunted
And my pillow wasn’t so soggy
Oh! you were so precious to me
The One I used to be
She was so beautiful more than I am now
What shall I do get her back? how?
She seems to be left behind
Somewhere down the race of life
I gotta get her back, I don’t know where to find
I saw her succumb to death I am what has survived
And ohh! She was soo dear to me
The One I used to be
But I’m sure she shall be proud of me
If ever we meet someday, somewhere ahead
As I have completed the race she left halfway dead
And maybe I’d just fall into her lap and cry
Why did you leave me? left me forlorn why?
And maybe her vision too shall blur
Afterall even though she is not me
I once was her
And oh! How I’d tell her
You were the only treasured possession to me
Because you, you are the one I used to be