I picked up a pen yesterday, took a blank sheet of paper, and started scribbling on it. The sheet was filled up with jumbled words, figures, and strokes within no time. It was not as if i wanted to write down an auto-biography, it was just that i wanted to jot down the irony of how much screwed one can get. My two halves were quarreling on this very idea as I stand like a silent spectator in front of them. It was too difficult to convince them even though the idea was lucid.
I decided to ignore them & started with the pen ... Here I go-
"Leaving the house in the morning, dressed in clothes that's bought on a credit card , for work, driving through the traffic in a vehicle that you are still paying for, putting in petrol that you cannot afford, in order to get to the job that you hate but need so badly so that you can pay for the clothes, car, petrol and the house that you leave empty the whole day, in order to live in it.."
It felt like the ink froze and the pen denied to write a single word next. It felt like its the will of the nature that i don't write anymore. The more i tried to write the deeper went the wound. ..i felt a pricking pain in the corner of the eye as if caused by a chilling wind, a small drop of tear ran down an landed on the paper scattering the last words, washing it away... a sudden flash of light distracted me as i sat in a candle light, i realized that i have been holding a blank sheet of paper for a long time staring at it. The sheet was blank, with no words, figures, strokes in it, the pen just worked fine the tip glaring... The arguing duo was gone, leaving behind their unusual stance, the grin on their face...
I decided to ignore them & started with the pen ... Here I go-
"Leaving the house in the morning, dressed in clothes that's bought on a credit card , for work, driving through the traffic in a vehicle that you are still paying for, putting in petrol that you cannot afford, in order to get to the job that you hate but need so badly so that you can pay for the clothes, car, petrol and the house that you leave empty the whole day, in order to live in it.."
It felt like the ink froze and the pen denied to write a single word next. It felt like its the will of the nature that i don't write anymore. The more i tried to write the deeper went the wound. ..i felt a pricking pain in the corner of the eye as if caused by a chilling wind, a small drop of tear ran down an landed on the paper scattering the last words, washing it away... a sudden flash of light distracted me as i sat in a candle light, i realized that i have been holding a blank sheet of paper for a long time staring at it. The sheet was blank, with no words, figures, strokes in it, the pen just worked fine the tip glaring... The arguing duo was gone, leaving behind their unusual stance, the grin on their face...
