Why do I write

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Why do I write? I write when my heart is loaded with heaviness of unrealistic emotional tantrums. Unrealistic! I shouldn’t have demeaned them like that but it’s ok, for a common mediocre interpretor. Let them be to get it easy. I write when the realm of my soul abandons me and shuts me out cuz it’s out of space for my worthless feelings. I write when the darkness of night calls me for a feast in the gloomiest corners of my room with cold tiles and humid atmosphere that throttles me. I write when drapes of truth are worn off and I see it all naked in front of my eyes and that I’ve no choice but get scared of the terror of its presence like that. I write when some pixie dust sprinkles me some spellbinding painful confetti and claims them to be mine- the ache and the sadness. I write when the sorrow in my heart invades every single organ of my body and chokes my throat with its cruelest thumbs. I write whenever my pillow is all drenched in tears so that my wriggling words might ease my heart.

I write when the airs get polluted with the lies and senseless argument over gentlest emotion-Love. I write when my tongue is shut closed and my mouth aches when it prompts the words to get uttered. I write when the inside me sings the saddest song and I go mad and lunatic at every single beat. I write when the world in me gets suffocating of the countless questions I encounter that some I answer and many are left unanswered. I write when I yearn to hug peace but it’s so far from my reach that I feel miserable to the core. I write when Love calls me, embraces me and says to me I’m made for it and I deserve it even when I lose every time I bow before it. I write when I deliberately search “the saddest song ever that makes you cry” and create scenarios in my head with nothing but my silent heart to claim it’s for it. I write when my Muse is awakened of the severest pang in the rooms of my heart and when he sees me parking in the murk. I write when the feathers of sorrow pinch me time and again.

How do I write? I write not with my hands as I sometimes not speak with my tongue. I write with my blood as I sometimes speak with my soul. I write without knowing what will be the next line as I not know how and where my life would take me too. I write with the trembling fingers as sometimes I speak with a stammering voice. I write my soul out like a gardener painstakingly picking out the thorns through his flowers. I write with my eyes shut as I sometimes close my eyes when I dream my beautiful life with peace and quietness .I write I don’t know how. I just write that sometimes I have nothing else to do. I write. Letters or notes or poems or songs. I never know how. Whatever is that is perfectly fine and easy. Warming and comforting for there is none to talk to and I’m answerable to no one. No one’s going to ask me why are you writing. I’m not going to pay heed to some one passing me comments how ugly my words are and what not. No one is no one. Not even me. I kind of like it. Writing is easy ! 

 


Submitted: May 30, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Rehmat Tanzila. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Mike S.

Yep, writing is our weapon against bad, and our opiate for good; excellent, Remat

Sun, May 30th, 2021 6:11pm

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