Time is fickle, man is bound. Time will order and man has to follow. Time will play a prank and man has to fall for it. Time will joke around while man 'has' to laugh. Time will dream and man never figures out when those dreams turn into nightmares. Along with this bond that 'will' continue till eternity, Time feels he should give some 'feelings' to man. Man doesnt know how to deal with his new found gift. Time teaches. Man never learns though. Its getting complicated, he thinks. Time wants Man to understand his feelings. He gifts him senses. Senses. Earlier whenever Man was happy (his feeling), he wouldnt *be* happy, simply because he 'dint' know he was happy. Senses. A gift that made Man realise how to deal with his feelings; laugh when you are ecstatic, smile through good times, tears are those hazzy moments you can 'see' as your heart feels its heaviest times, jealousy turns you green on your friends and foes alike, given all men. But as days passed by, Man now dint know how to use his senses, he would start crying when happy, smile when he wanted to cry. What was he doing? Time, did you do that? Alls in a mess. Man is now scared to even use his senses. 'Time will tell' . Scared to use my senses, i dont give in to my feelings - Man. Breathe your senses. But few of them made him lose his breath. Lost in trips to no man's time.
OVERCOMING THE SO-CALLED 'WRITER'S BLOCK ' Writing is a measure of emotional intelligence. Why would i say that? Maybe because the first-time writing experience din't last long enough. It was moving. It grew with time. & then faded away in the memory of glory. Where does it come from? True to the heart, even rubbish sentences & word salads sound great when they're penned down by deep-seeded need to explore the long lost aspects of the self. Its been 2 years I havnt written anything meaningful. Did something stop me? No. Dint anything motivate me? Countless things did. Then what went wrong? Its the process. Words flew around in circles & giant tornadoes. Sentences kept forming as words settled into their positions. An idea was born. However, it was soul less. Becoming who you are, finding the one thing you really like, and then the disturbing thoughts of having to let it go. Save the heart. Save the soul. Save the words.
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