Words ...
Do you know my words used to
dance unconstrained on the stage of paper ,and that they emerged out even from
the crevices of the walls that confined my silence stricken heart .Those walls are still
there,those crevices have even not been filled
with the dust of time .They still exist but the words are not there .Those crevices are
waiting for the flurry of words to make their way through ,struggle ,with the
constraints .
May be it were you ,and ,your
soft voice ,that made me ,filled with ,words ..
May be the hope of seeing you
and meeting you one day ,made me write,
The picture that I had in my
mind of two of us holding hands in hands and jaunting to place where the fine
line between the right and the wrong gets dissolved ,where the judgement,the
assertions ,the inquisitions,the acquisitions are not there ,where the
callousness associated with ambition,and the incessant run of achieving ,competing and putting our own people behind and
the thoughts of quest to win are non existent ..May be
that picture was what transformed into different words and expanding their span
into essays
Perhaps ,the fear of losing
you ,and that ,heart broken feel ,and the hidden tears made way in the form of
words..
Perhaps the queer imagination
of mine on how would you react to see
how quaintly I painted you in with the
stringent use of words ,stringent enough to not compromise with the purity of
love,to not compromise with dignity while describing your beauty , I feel
,those made me write with a subtle flow like a cool but soothing breeze of the
spring.
May be it was your smile
,that me ,burst in into ,the bewildered search for the similes and in that
search I found my words wrestling each other for the getting their space into
the essays .I feel ,my words ,found
their,life there .
May be the way you invaded my
heart, bit by bit, with silent steps,treading
softly,through a cushiony path of love that you made inside of me ,each
day ,gave birth to words and they have flown onto paper, every single moment of
thought of yours .
May be those sleepless nights
set ablaze with the fire of yearning to meet you, to see you and to confess you
my love straight from my eyes ,gazing into your soul ,made me ,overflow with
words..
Now that you no longer talk
and that there is an unusual lull that has occupied two of us, I feel,my words
have gone to sleep.They haven't slept yet ,they are pandiculating somewhere ..And trying to rejuvenate .A fresh
talk may bring a new life to them ,they are ,half waked ,rubbing their eyes,only
a false imitation of annoyance and may be a small faking shout of yours,will
make them awake ..
Let me tell you ,
Words are my life .They make my world where I live ,where
you live ,where there are faint hopes
of meeting you reside ,where there is a small
hut of ours in a lush green valley surrounded by big hearted mountains .
The flowery language that I
use in my essays is your beauty in my eyes.That hut where you and I dwell ,I construct that daily with precise engineering
skills of my words,putting ,every brick of similes ,analogies and metaphors
with thorough caution, cementing with beautiful string of words ,building it
with precision keeping a check on the words that may appear loose ,locating the
instances of personification in every
single possibility lurking ,and
even a single flaw if I locate,I demolish the whole construct.
Such are you and such is a
compelling association of yours with my
words.
And each day I keep reminding
my words that be ready for that faint hope ,be desirous of the days to come,be
jubilant enough to ooze out to paint you each day with light strokes of my
imagination .They are like a brush to a painter ,like a chisel and hammer to a
sculptor ,they are like a life saving drug to a dying patient ,they are the like a musical instrument to a musician and they are what I live for.
These words
are wandering these days in the dreariness of time being spent without you...they are
getting lost in the deserts of non recognition.They need your pat ,they need
your pampering ,they need acclamation, they need your smile which used to be there when you read them , they need the same expression you used to give on reading them and feeling a proximity to every sentences like it has been you ,who has been written down with the ink of pen .
They are living a life of solitude ,they need your silky soft hands to run over them.
Let them feel good about themselves and blossom like buds blossom into a lovely
rose .They are living still and nostalgia inducts in them a trace of life but not for long ,they need you
My life is incomplete without
you and my words have become orphans in your absence....