Words

I've found solace in words in the form of songs, poetry and stories that whisk me away from the real world I so long to escape. 
When I see something beautiful, my heart sings songs in words my brain cannot fathom and my pen cannot conjure. Why is it so that every emotion I feel is coupled with a heartsong that I am able to feel in my soul, but when i sit to write it down the pages remain empty? Why is it so that as a child I would write poems- about the light that shines in the stars that twinkle and the sun that shines, about the rain that would descend from the clouds unto my cold warm skin and the rain that would fall from my eyes unto my cheeks- and yet as an adult the only difference I see on the paper is the blot of the teardrop that dries too fast. Why is it that my heart sings sonnets when I see a painting or a photograph and it paints a picture when i read a poem? Why is it that I am unable to describe in words how I feel and yet words can perfectly describe how I am feeling? Why is it that something that once made the heaviness in my heart feel lighter like a cool breeze does under the azure sky now further weighs my heart down? Why do we compare the art we create that speak the language of our souls to others when the language we speak may not even be the same? Why is it that art feels no longer like a manifestation and a celebration of emotions but a juxtaposition of two identically non identical things in order to determine which expression of emotion is best? Why is it that the mind seeks validation as if the heaviness lifted from the heart, through art, is no longer enough? One day I wish, to again, be able to break free from the heaviness I impose on my heart and sing songs freely as the cool winds caresses my face at dusk. One day I wish I could see art as the expression it's supposed to be and not the competition I have made it into. And i wish not to lose more years and stop myself from singing the heartsongs in the language of my soul

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Obsession

Humans are and always have been obsessed with the idea of obsession. Our tendency to find a source of attachment and find some meaning to the different things in life leads us to project our feelings onto and external object- be it a thing, feeling, or a person. And think and overthink about it till you eventually become obsessed with it, and think and overthink it again, till you lose interest and find another object for our obsessive needs. To be obsessed with something, one needs passion and commitment. Humans however are people with faltering and fleeting interests and thus major commitment issues. We as a species have subpar attention span and focus, and so our focus keeps shifting. Our areas of interests keep changing and our passion keeps faltering and so after a while as we change so do our objects of obsession. These objects can be anything from toys to books to food to ideas and of course the classic- other humans.                However, humans I think, are most obsesse
Read more

Feeble attempt at writing a children's story to not be too dark (another class assignment)

                                                Rita goes shopping It was warm sunny December morning when Rita woke up. Looking out into the bright blue sky, Rita thought to herself, “Oh, I ought to finish my errands today.” And so Rita excitedly got out of bed and hopped into the shower. Rita had just moved into a new house and as her parents had gone away on a trip, she was in charge of the house. Well, her granny was there but it was difficult to say who was taking care of whom.             Rita hurriedly gobbled up her breakfast and put on her favorite yellow dress for her day in the sun. She had made a list of things to do throughout the day, just like her mom. Rita felt like a grown-up today, and why wouldn’t she? She would be turning 12 in a week. “The grown-ups don’t ride their cycles”, thought Rita to herself “They always take the bus, so I will take the bus too.” Rita gleefully skipped to the bus station to hop on to the next bus into town. She waited and waited, buse
Read more

Modernism and Cities (Assignment, again.)

A modernist comparison and analysis of Beautiful City by Lord Alfred Tennyson and The City by Constantine Cavafy             Constantine Cavafy an Egyptian-Greek poet in the late 19 th century at the beginning of the era of modernism wrote the poem called The City. It is a poem of helplessness, longing, one of despair and a desperate desire to escape and find meaning. Looking at this poem from a modernist theory, one can sense the alienation that the poet feels from the places that he lives in, as he is left to wander around from city to city in desperate search of meaning. We can find in the poet’s confusion as he finds himself unable to escape his dreadful reality, as he runs away from it time and again. His hopes of escaping the black ruins of his life, a place where he destroyed his years completely, are shattered as he realizes that no matter where he goes the city will always pursue him. A sense of fragmented self can be felt in the lines of the poem as he longs to feel w
Read more