Saturday, June 9, 2007

thinking out...

How easy it is to make life a happy parable, drawn out to its very ends, stretched between concrete yes or easy it is to simplify? How easy it is to thank for being fortunate? But the emptiness after all that is done is relentlessly scary. I do not know how to escape the snare of thoughts. The dead end of thoughts must be an equally terriffying zone. And so i chase them, chase thoughts, lead them in to the labyrinths of my mind, they coil around me...round and round like a slithery creeper. i wish they kept moving and moving while i stood still as now, felt the pace of thoughts, the pant and haste of an inner world.

If writing is a confession, turning increasingly to oneself is the guilt one shud be redeemed of. i know what i I have to say. But that is what I would rather hide. The nakedness of my soul is beautiful for me. But I hate to expose. And is not hiding a crime too? If only I could paint I could have etched it all in some strokes and hid myself behind the canvas. If at all I could sing I could have lied latent in the harmony of my music. But words are poor hiding lots…they let slip all and I hate to reveal.
So…beware, I am a reluctant revelator, may tell only half. I am out of death and cannot tell you my truths. Writing is my lie.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Whatever has the property of thinking, as u ur thots... and pour them out too... there is no point being a relucant revealer

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