“It hit me like a bolt of a thunder, warning me of a storm”,
I wrote this sentence and kept looking at the plain white page. I didn’t know
what to do next. This sentence was my thunder, but where was my storm?
I had my grammar exam the next day. It was an eighty-mark
paper, for which we had half a day to prepare for. I studied physics for 2
hours and my mind was saturated. At around 6 pm I sat down and thought of
writing an essay, because that was what I was going to be graded for the next
day. but I needed music, because – as I said, my mind was saturated; I needed
something to make me feel relaxed. So, I went to the app, amazon music and turned
on the shivi playlist. And then I started. I wrote one word and I stopped, I
stopped because an idea sprouted out of my seed sized brain; from a past few days I kept having thoughts about my childhood and my
earlier years of school– although I’m just 14, it doesn’t mean I don’t have
memorable moments and wonderful memories. So, I thought to myself, “why not
write a poem, a poem on those days”. So I started – “I wish I could go back to
how it was before”. And then I stopped again, I stopped again because I didn’t
get any words or sentences at that moment. but Here comes the twist, I had
another Idea. the idea was, ‘why not write about a dream land and compare it
with the real world?’
I sat back and started writing:
I just want to go back to
how it was before –
When the skies weren’t
grey and the air had the sweet smell of rain;
when the stars spoke, and the moon was visible
with the sun;
when the dark wasn’t scary
and people were awake to see the twilight;
when the flowers spread
love, and the thorns were to protect, not to hurt;
when surprises were happy
and shocks were a temporary disappointment;
when everything was normal
and things didn’t change over days.
then I
stopped again, and I said, “hello, you can’t give up on this, give me ideas,
now!”
I guess
I really needed a berating. My brain’s a bit stubborn and modest.
With
nothing popping up , I concentrated on
the music that was being played. It was a very familiar tune; jeez, it was my
jam!, it’s a shame not recognizing it by the very first resonating beat, it was
“ live while we’re young”, sung by the one direction band, from my favourite
album, “ take me home”.
And
bhoom! Here comes another idea, “why not write about going back to the
dreamland?”
Then, I
let the black ink seep through the clear white pages in the form of beautiful
letters:
take me back to my imagination;
take me back to my dreams;
take me back to the place where the world didn’t bother me;
take me back to when everyone was happy;
take me back to the place when only the nature spoke about
me, and not people;
take me back to the impossible.
There was some sort of relief that I felt
with every word I wrote. With every letter, It felt like an atom of stress
ebbed away into the black. The feeling of writing something after nearly 2
months, gave me the same blissful feeling that I get, when I see the sun weep
orange at the horizon.
Although, I must say, not all my poems
are written in this peculiar ‘ stop - write” process. But this indeed was a
special one.
I guess this was the STORM that my
thunder warned me of.
An awakening from the blue reminded me
that I had an exam tomorrow, and I should probably learn for that, rather than
dawdling my precious time (writing is not dawdling my time, but my brain
wouldn’t understand if I didn’t frame my sentence this way)
To conclude, here’s a quote:
“there is no difference between a
writer’s hand and a writer’s heart”
