We’re always told to think before doing anything. If possible, think twice.
But what if we don’t even know what we’re going to do? How does one think about it?
Like when we’re nervous, blurting out words without even knowing what we’re about to say next.
Like the social animal who knows just the right words to strike up a conversation without even knowing you.
Like the high ranking official on a podium who reacts to emerging situations without prior preparation.
We’ve all been in these situations. It happens in speech, as it does with other forms of expression – the artist, musician, actor, and writer within us reaches out by bypassing the neurological highway and surprising us.
Here is one of those moments when my thumbs tapped away without my knowledge:
The world spins around Nothing makes sense Inertia worsens this hell. Leave. Move – Before it’s too late Or fall into your shell.
They say that the universe has a way of communicating with us. That the world sends messengers to guide us along the way.
Sometimes, the messanger is sitting right inside us.
As the bud opened her arms,
I tried to get close.
I wanted a picture
It cost me a few scars.
I wondered why roses have thorns
The thorny plant replied:
Perhaps you may consider
Even a thorny plant can nurture a rose.
Tall, clean and sharp, they come in shiny boxes.
We draw them out and display their art.
We put them in denim pockets, in rusty boxes and in dusty pouches.
We wear them down and peel them out.
Misplaced, handed over, forgotten, replaced – it’s of no relevance.
They have ensured that they have made their mark.
These pencils have been my silent companions for several years now. A few weeks back, my mother stitched this pencil pouch for keeping them organised, using a few of my old clothes. My pencils have finally found a home – a wonderful one too! 🙂
The changes a pencil undergoes in its lifetime, as well as the transformation of my old clothes into this new pouch are my interpretations for this week’s challenge.
Lightning and thunder play a tug of war
With the most delicate of fibres
Even as torrential rain is contained
Within a tiny vessel
Waves of salty water threaten to flood
The ploughed landscape
Unable to comprehend
Yet desperate to shed the burden
The hand begins to move of its own accord
Meaning manifests through the most unexpected means
The storm recedes
The vessel attains momentary peace
Creative people are often considered temperamental and restless. A lot has been said and written about this. I recently read the phrase “the creative’s curse” somewhere and this poem is my little contribution towards the stereotype.