Utopia : The Land of My Soul
Friday, June 19, 2009
Reposeful dream
The sun goes down on me,
The moon apologises for its satin touch too...............
Am I frail china glass or just dreaming such ecstasy?
Because such is the fate of frailty or languor.
The wind caresses with its invisible hands,
The sky spreads out its cottony cover......
Am I unethereal mortal or a befallen shooting star?
Elemental earth bestows her best to conceal.
The scintillating stars beckon me wordlessly,
The rain drops try to twitter sweet nothings........
Am I the lady of Shallot or the forlorn Peony in an ornamental garden?
The senses yearn for want of such bliss.
A verse full of romantic thoughts, some words that sound like magic, and a pattern to cast feelings...When I wanted to key in letters to resume writing after a long time, these were the overriding thoughts clouding up my mind. But is it so? Are these the only parameters to scribble down to create what the world calls a verse? I guess not!
A few years ago while in my grad days, I came across an unforgettable line. And I have had held onto it till now. It read 'Creativity is born out of white heat of imagination and frenzy, a faculty which comes onto you spontaneously.' And my personal experience stands testimony to it. I was trying to produce something for quite a couple of days, but apart from a few sparse lines nothing struck me. Today, just felt like changing my tagline for my chat. And the first three lines happened just in the blink of an eye. I did not have to clamour for words, thoughts or the matter to write on. I guess, this is the reason why creativity acquires such high pedestal for the scribes and the commoners like me.
The moon apologises for its satin touch too...............
Am I frail china glass or just dreaming such ecstasy?
Because such is the fate of frailty or languor.
The wind caresses with its invisible hands,
The sky spreads out its cottony cover......
Am I unethereal mortal or a befallen shooting star?
Elemental earth bestows her best to conceal.
The scintillating stars beckon me wordlessly,
The rain drops try to twitter sweet nothings........
Am I the lady of Shallot or the forlorn Peony in an ornamental garden?
The senses yearn for want of such bliss.
A verse full of romantic thoughts, some words that sound like magic, and a pattern to cast feelings...When I wanted to key in letters to resume writing after a long time, these were the overriding thoughts clouding up my mind. But is it so? Are these the only parameters to scribble down to create what the world calls a verse? I guess not!
A few years ago while in my grad days, I came across an unforgettable line. And I have had held onto it till now. It read 'Creativity is born out of white heat of imagination and frenzy, a faculty which comes onto you spontaneously.' And my personal experience stands testimony to it. I was trying to produce something for quite a couple of days, but apart from a few sparse lines nothing struck me. Today, just felt like changing my tagline for my chat. And the first three lines happened just in the blink of an eye. I did not have to clamour for words, thoughts or the matter to write on. I guess, this is the reason why creativity acquires such high pedestal for the scribes and the commoners like me.
