The poem started off as a continuation of the last poem. However, I over wrote that version. It kinda went into a deadlock situation where I know the poem may never end appropriately. So I thought I could sit out on this one and then finish it at a later time. Then I thought, why would I write anything that doesn’t have a proper ending or ends up hurting the feelings of myself or anyone else? Leave the questions that came to my mind into the poem and let life in its journey through time and space encounter the answers rather than me guessing what anyone else is thinking.
Photo by Atharva Tulsi on Unsplash
Ramadan is two nights away so there may not be another poem for a while. During last Summer, fall, and part of winter, I noted many ideas but didn’t get the time to sit and write as work held me by the throat.
The whole world praises me for my work. In all honesty, I just don’t like doing it. I never wanted to do this as a job. If I were wealthy I would have done it willingly. This is like I am forced to do many things and be unfair to myself. Kinda in a paradoxical situation.
When I was a lot younger I thought I would retire at the age of 50 and live with my family writing more and more. But realities of life like monsters struck me down again and again. It is not easy for someone who knows nothing about me to understand what I am going through. Hardly anyone ever tried to understand who I am in a world of simplicity and humility. Well, that’s what people who believe call fate. To a great extent, I don’t care, as I know this illusion of life will fade away like morning mist and the absolute reality is I accept God’s will, leaving everything as just desires.
I may write this Ramadan, but I don’t know what will I write. But I have a feeling I will write. “What is west of Westeros?” I am not thinking like that… Maybe I should look deep into the eyes of someone I want to know. If allowed, maybe, I will call myself the luckiest man alive. Let us see.