Skip to main content

Writer by Design

Picking up a pen over everything else is a difficult choice. The Jamaican dub poet Michael Smith writes in Before I Lay Me Down:

                                       certain of nothing
                                   but the certainty of doubt.

 These lines can be relevantly taken as an echo of rational paradox for all writers. Why does one write? For acclaim? Distinction? Pursuit? Urge? Ambition? Inspiration?

 Nay. These are mere commoners. So much so is true for any industry. Passion single-handedly cannot decide the mark of destiny. So, what is it that makes a writer, writer?

 Perhaps, the choice itself. When you know that everything that you deserve to be would never suffice what you already are. When you know anything else wouldn't justify what you already are. The hardest choice to make is to tell ourselves that we're already arrived.

 The choice itself makes the different. To remain what you are, to keep that, to know this is all where you ever had to be. That there is no further place. No different place.

 It is in that moment of reciprocity that your writer awakes. The awareness that everything around you is in motion except yourself. When you take the center and keep your stand.

 A firm spine has the fullest view. Claim your design.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Keep Gratitude

We often wonder how life and its things begin, how love is found, how joys are treasured. On this lookout we often forget how it all will end. How life would cease to be. That last day is the hardest thought to cope with, to let go of all that these moments hold for us. Even our incomplete fate, even our unfulfilled wishes. Even this imperfect story is too dear to let go. And in this retrospect our gratitude magnifies. This is where true happiness lies. This where the mind meets clarity, and the voice learns modesty.
Post a Comment
Read more

I will remember

This day metro isn’t so crowded and I get a seat toward the end of the coach. Two stoppages later a family boards the train. They have a couple of luggage bags. I vacate the seat for them. The woman reluctantly contemplates taking the seat as I insist. Men around focus on the opportunity if she refuses. She sits. The three children, who all seem 3-6 years old, slowly sit over the berth constructed of the bags. All these three sit with their backs to each other, all facing opposite directions. The man stands near the steel bar about a foot from the children, observing them. I take another look at the family - the man’s shirt is torn from places. Sensing my own unease, I hastily look at his feet. The shoes are okay, not worn out. I strangely feel as if this discovery is a consolation to my own blessings. I shift my sight. The kids are well-dressed in the clothes the parents could afford them, the woman seems to be wearing a new saree . I feel relieved that I have overcome the bout of s...
Post a Comment
Read more

100 words - Fall

Auburn mesh of mellowing leaves and a shade  Of mild sun in the sky, isn’t the world shying up for a long quiet?  Slow arrival of the dawn, its brisk departure into evenings, I embrace  The night with an intense warmth now.  Stars seem to photodegrade, their tiny dabs stitching up  The cloak of the mists around.  The earth has become solemn, the breeze tells.  I can sense the fading whispers of trees as a lull  Slowly forms upon the hills.  Few drifting clouds look for ironies and leave  Disappointed.  The music from the rivers has turned cold on them.
Post a Comment
Read more