I write because I cannot stop. I cry during nights when I feel as if my desires have sapped away all my passion for writing. I write because I can't resist myself to meeting my lurking thoughts. I write because I have passions and big dreams that make me insane! I write because I want to write my future. Writing is an illusion of water in the desert for me. I have lots to say, lots of insecurity, lots of happiness and pain that suffocate my breath. I can't resist my pen, which always bleeds ink in the form of my unsaid words. I know that every time I write, I meet a girl who deserves hate more than love. I meet someone who has fire in her eyes. My words daily stab me deeper than a knife. I don't deserve to love!
Image courtesy gallery
I write to understand myself better, to understand my inner desires. I have been writing since 2020, but still I don't know why I started writing. Whenever I glance at other people's life who are living my life, it makes me envious. My solemn eyes are so beautiful, but I am unable to see the beauty behind my wet eyes. I have many people who are just one call away from me. They can listen to me like a minstrel, but I don't share my drought in darkness with them. I have been perplexed with unrequited love. How could it hurt people? I know nobody understands me the way I want them to. Even I don't know why people still love me. I'm a very selfish person who only thinks about herself. My life is so beautiful , not because I choose myself first in the congestion of thousands of people, but because it's very difficult for me to hide the inner soul of the universe within me. Kitna ajib lagta hai Ek kavi ko samjana Jo dusaro ke dukh mein samil hokar Apne aap ko samjate hai.. Sometimes I wonder Whom do I belong to? Do I belong to the stars that luster with sunlight? Do I belong to the moonlight that doesn't shine without the sun? Do I belong to water that sheds everything in it? Do I belong to fire that lurks in the darkness? Do I belong to nature that provides shelter to her enemies? I have dreams... I have a voice... I have a soul... All my infirmities hide under my sins. All my good intuitions are disguised. All my responsibilities keep me keen. I break alone. I heal alone. I sob alone. I hide my pain alone. I want to elevate myself, to put myself on top because... I belong to only myself. I belong to my sins. I belong to my virtues. I belong to my love. I belong to my soul. I belong to my poem's I belong to my death.
Writing is an illusion of light for me, on the brink of hell. Here, I only share one fourth part of my writing. I have filled 5 notebooks in which more than 1000 poems are written. Other than this, I also have 3 diaries which are waiting for someone! One day, I would deceive myself with my sobbing; one day, I would throw away my fear.
Image courtesy gallery ( my poem's notebook)
I write to meet myself in solace and want to listen my sobbing. Why am I so cringe ?who I always speculating my passions for big dreams? My parents have lots of desires from me, bigger than Mount Everest, but my self doubt is drowning me in Lake Baikal. It makes me panic. I want to get rid of these insecurities, and the only way left for me is writing. That's why I write.
Love your self infinity ❤