Long lost inspiration
That
long-lost inspiration
- It was dangling in a murky dungeon -
Now seeps through inch by inch.
That was the pain of separation
- Forgotten and left in an unknown junction -
Still a memory of the crunch
Memory darts across the wall
I, a happy being, walk up the hill
Clouds veil the dazzling sun,
Why, the same-way going, never hanging still?
And inspiration
You lie sweetly solemn
Wildly wooden
Filling my gouged soul with elation
The fascination
We never cursed ‘damn’
Beautifully laden
Spares the moments of desperation.
Facebook. Of course you must know I’m talking about the celebrated
social network site, and nothing else. One of my friends signed out once
and for all, thinking it’s all but waste of time. Yes it is, when you
while away with trash like Barn Buddy. Whether this Facebook is
worthwhile or not, let’s leave the job to sociologists.
I love this word called ‘inspiration’. It is always mysterious,
menacing, and, after all, captivating. Mind my words, for I mean each
and every word. Even a beggar needs inspiration just the way a king
does. Those famous four signs inspired Siddhartha to renounce the
luxury, so to say.
In my case many things, especially the books I read, inspire my life.
They mould what I am and in a way shape me good enough to face the
society’s evil features. That’s why I am always selective in reading.
But sometime back I felt as if I have lost my inspiration. It seemed
to be all but gone on the spur of the moment. I was dying to get hold of
it back, but still the period was full of sadness and sorrow. Things
won’t be same for ever, so wholesome days were on its way back over
time. And I discovered that long-lost inspiration was slowly pushing its
way through to me. It was waiting on the threshold of my soul.
Now, I thought, is proper time to key in that feeling as my status
update on Facebook:
That long-lost inspiration -
it was dangling in a murky dungeon -
now seeps through inch by inch.
Samodh is a regular customer of my Facebook profile. He left a
comment on my status update, and I replied.
The thread meandered line by line, verse by verse each filled by us,
very much shifting but still seemingly seamless.
Two people wording one poem would sound ridiculous, though there are
traditions rarely heard of. When it comes to a work of art, it should be
one person rather than two or three. Then, how can two people write one
poem? Writing verse by verse? Our status update venture was something
like that. But we didn’t force-write the verses.
I pictured Samodh’s lines my own way, and let the words leap out
their own way - I keyed in my thoughts only then. You have the right to
interpret / misinterpret each other’s thoughts. You have the right to
choose the next moment to fill in.
In this age, you don’t have to be by a desktop or anything when you
have your mobile Facebook. Modern mobile phone seems to be the perfect
replacement for pen and paper, perhaps even more convenient. You may be
continents apart, but the world is on your palm with the age-old
community in new guise. It will remain loyal wherever you go, with
occasional fail though.
Samodh’s first comment, second verse in the poem, left me speechless.
How could one delve into another’s inner soul? He has written down what
I was exactly going through. An incident could be sad, but its memory
should be inspirational.
Over the next few lines I felt as if we are talking to each other
behind our own silent curtains. Although we are apart in form, thoughts
have interlaced our words and reconciled our world. I see inspiration
enjoying its long-awaited respite warmly welcoming us to the sunny
meadow. Feeling the dazzling array of sunlight, I know this is time
enough.
I look on with joy, yet hold my gaze. Lest this twinge of moment
falls dead.
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