Is it reasonable to complain when I hardly spend any time solving the problem?
Well, I haven’t even spent a bit of time identifying the real problem here. Then how is it sensible to complain?
It feels like it’s been ages since I wrote a decent poem. I miss it. I miss playing with words. Getting stuck in the deep end of a poem and finding my way out of it, stringing the words together, and savoring the end product as I would a delicious dessert. Part of me had forgotten this whole process. Today, after a gap of many days, I sat down with the intention of writing a poem.
And, I got nothing.
Words deceived me. I felt foolish. We have become strangers, haven’t we? And my mind resorted to complaining – no wonder I wasn’t writing. Words have left me. It’s not my fault, words simply aren’t coming my way.
Then, amid the despair, I thought, when was the last time I went looking for the words I consider dearer than a dearest friend? Long. It’s been a long time. I haven’t been making time to welcome the words that unceremoniously appeared on my mind’s doorstep. I was busy with other things that led me to nowhere. Many nights, as I slowly slip into sleep, I have heard the voices of my creative mind conjuring up stories and poems. But I prioritized sleep hoping that in the morning I will still hear these beautiful sounds. In the morning, though, I was too busy or thoughtless to give a few minutes of my time to the wonderful distractions of creativity. They might’ve stopped by looking to interact, but I postponed again. And again.
Now when the words have abandoned my distracted mind, how can I be complaining about their absence when they never complained a word when I ignored them completely not so long ago.
Yet, my agony doesn’t lighten with all this knowledge staring at me. I miss the company of words that made me feel nostalgic and worthy. I realize that writing had made me equally powerful and weak. Much like being in love. And I love writing. I love the company of words.
I can only promise to listen to the minute vibrations of words that are kind enough to surface inside my mind. Next time I will be ready to hear completely and capture the tunes in their glory.
There will be a block of time waiting for the arrival of words in my daily routine no matter how long it would take them to materialize.
Needless to say, I am thankful for all the times words made me special by being there for my blank pages. I am forever grateful for the company of words.
PS: I wrote this last week and right after writing this I wrote a poem. I am compelled to believe that the invisible ring of words follows me and listens to my feelings. It makes me feel a whole lot better to believe so. These little moments make my life an incredibly wonderful one. I am grateful.
You can read the poem I wrote here: Failure Has Become My Second Nature.