Alone in the house, walk into a room,
a table with a writing pad on it; a pen lying across.
the clean, crisp page – untouched; blank and spotless – inviting.
the heart craves expression – pristine and unrestrained;
handicapped by form though, expression fails the heart upon a single touch.
Shamanth.
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genuis!!
ReplyDeletelovely...
ReplyDelete@both - thank you :)
ReplyDeleteFinally!! I thought you will never come back. This piece is so good. Expecting more.
ReplyDelete@mikim - hehehe :) thanks :) i won't go away so soon :) but then you never know ;)
ReplyDeleteWhat lines! You're a relief to me.
ReplyDelete@ zlaek - I don't understand how exactly you mean that..
ReplyDeleteI thank my fortune (or whatever else that external* factor is) that you produce these lines which have a power of their own and diffuse and spread rapidly through my conscious and perhaps, enter the deeper layers of my existence, and leave an impact to last... And that I can experience the impact, sense it, appreciate it, and turn it into a strength in my otherwise rough, crippling life.
ReplyDeleteYou and a few others (by no means am I bracketing you; interaction with each one is a unique/separate, precious experience) are a relief to all the self-injury I cause myself. It's a relief when, once in a while, I'm able to rediscover my inclinations, who I could be.
*External only in one sense
ReplyDelete