black ink seeping through the white pages

“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”