I had at one point, and quite correctly so I might add, decided that I will not be posting any shorties or poems here. And why not? All that stuff needs time, time to think, to write, and to edit. In short, time that I can’t invest in these as I pursue the ultimate goal, I guess, of having a book ready in the next two months or so. This delay, this thinking period is what put me off blogging on the previous blog. The delay just made me more resistant I guess.
The time I devote here, is really scant. Maybe, an hour or so at max. Really, at max. I think about the topic in the morning, and I write about it during the day, minutes at a time. Sometimes, I’d get a really brilliant thought, while I’m writing stuff and then I’d drop this and start writing something else.
But then, something almost magical happened a few days back. Really, magical. Because whenever I write a poem, it is from start to finish in one go. And I don’t think I am the one doing anything then. It’s like somebody is whispering the words in my ear, and I am just writing those words down. That is how most of the poems start. Magically!
But that’s not how most poems end. By the time I am halfway through, the voice, it stops whispering. And then I find myself alone. Looking at the stuff which is on the paper, and thinking, really? What now?
I wanted to talk about ‘Who’ll fight my wars?’ because it happened magically. I have never been able to write poems when I wanted to. On demand. That is why I really respect poets. How can you think of that stuff, that beautiful flowing stuff?
I was sitting at my desk, doing some costing, and then, a though came to me: ‘What will happen if all the soldiers on all sides of all the boundaries decided to drop their weapons? Will the leaders pick up the dropped weapons? Will they be able to risk their lives for their cause? And that was exactly when the whispering began. What was supposed to be a peaceful, white poem, came out all dark, and bloody.
My friend even commented if I had been recruited by some terrorist faction?
But then, as I said, I am not in control when I am writing poems. And frankly, if I don’t have a pen, and paper when the whispering begins, the magic will be gone; the poem will be gone, perhaps on it’s way to find someone who has a paper and a pencil!
P.S. The second chapter was finished after utilizing the two-day grace period I have kept at the end of each chapter. Chapter Three is truly underway. And it’s going good right now. Must be around the two-thousand word mark. Cheers!