Words

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....