|Image credits: Spark Saw by *Burning2Sleep|
I was wondering why sometimes words fail me while sometimes unknowingly failure begets poetry.
I was breaking my head bad and mad all over me but whatever I wrote had to be deleted.
Nothing seemed to make any sense to me.It was just void, dull insignificant psychotic void, present but still insignificant.
Something that we all have become.From one angle we all feel as if we have reached heights but then we all know the hollowness that we still live in.
It was this very moment where sense prevailed over absolution.
Something which came out pouring of my school prayers:
"Where knowledge is free and World has not been broken up.....into dreary desert sands".
I think freedom to think would embroil everything when we would be free to understand freedom.It is a misnomer of sorts, of discussions of debates.
I hate debates nowadays. I debate but I know that my debate is only as strong as the source from which I read my facts from.
And a lot depends on the facts fed into these papers.Cause what are facts but a winners carnage.
Anyways I somehow still am never satisfied by what I ever write.
But sometimes at least it is passable and sometimes people try to pass it and I know it stinks during those times.
But then still atleast still I am able to uncloth the reason of why, why sometimes we can write while sometimes words feel molested, mishandled.
And everything then fits into where t should fit.
It is that spark, that moment which makes the whole sense.
I would be happy if we all could bolster courage to copulate more with these sparks of ours.