Writer’s Block

I am not in the mood to write about anything tonight.

But the ritual is calling –

I miss to see the words dancing, on my screen, in my command, with the music that comes from deep within.

But the connection is badly distorted, and crappy.


here is what I want to say:

Nothing, nothing, and nothing! Not a word! Not a tune!

What has become of this link? Disconnected? The sun storm, you say?

Agrhhh … It’s exasperating!

I can only catch the echoes – faintly! Superficially! Incomprehensibly!

Try! Try! Try!

What d’ya mean? – I AM trying!

Try to lit the cig! You said once, the smoke helped you summon the genie.

It didn’t work! It didn’t work!

Beep!  I could hear nothing! And the screen has turned black, — pitched dark!

How can I write when I hear nothing?!

How can I move on when …?

Auchh …! Perhaps I should just go to sleep –

and let the dream write its own story!

–  END –

[The writer’s block, they say, is a condition that afflicts a writer every now and then. It’s a time – a period – where nothing comes out of his mind, not a word that can be crafted and sculptured; not a tune that can make the words dance upon his command. It’s as if he has suddenly lost his command upon the very subject over which he has the greatest power to rule.

It’s catastrophic!

They say, it’s nothing unusual. Something that usually comes when there is fear, anxiety, and insecurity. Something that occurs when he is too conscious about himself, having too much control over himself that he can no longer control his own subjects – the humble words – or let them – the mighty words – to have control over him, flow within him, imbue him with their colors, suffuse him with the energy he can feel so ecstatic about.

They say, he can get over it if only he’d do things the words ask for: respect, honesty, humbleness – that as much as he is a king, a ruler, he is also a slave to their wishes; as much as he is a supreme commander, he is only a foot soldier with no weapons whatsoever except for those given by them.

They say, it takes a practice of self-discipline – a monk-ish kind of discipline when he is meditating and letting the Universe be at one with him – to cure.

Frankly speaking, though, I’m writing this just to break it – lift up the block! Reach deep into my self, and take out any grievances the words have over me, so that they will befriend me again; so that they will let me dance again with them; so that in the harmony of our music, together, we can again paint the right colors to the painful blank spaces left by our silence.]


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