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.
Void Thoughts 
Ah! I loved this post, Vinitha. Sometimes we take our words so much for granted and it’s at the times they don’t seem to flow that we realize how grateful we must be for them. Hugs!
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Very true, Corinne. I realize the need to listen to the sound of words when they pop in. No one could make me special like a random piece of poetry that appeared on the tip of my pen.
Thank you for stopping by, Corinne. ?
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