Things that I wish I had done…

Last time I read Rumi I cried like a baby, because I had a lot of things to do right about then. But, then I never could have. I was sitting alone in a corner with nothing going on at all. With my thoughts running amok and to every place. I sat there with my wonders fleeting, and I realized  how powerful and how helpless I have been in the past years of my life. I had the thing what we call a “sublime moment” but, I wasn’t powerful, I was humbled. I was humbled and broken, and I was happier than ever, only the happiness was a simple void wrapped around the sadness that tugged ever so tightly at my chest…

This post is a part of the #SecondChance activity at BlogAdda in association with MaxLife Insurance”.

My list of regrets runs long and it is not something that I would like to go around showing to every one of my friends. But, then they know, well, some of them do anyway…

One of my deepest regrets is a recent enough but, then well I have to talk about it.

Not going on that solo trip

I have been suffering recently from the writer’s block that is breaking my heart and I need to talk about it. I need to take a solo trip to somewhere that is far off to reconcile with myself but, then something or the other always comes before me. Something is always there, the invariable large block of responsibility carefully assembled by the university and the family that tugs your shirt sleeve every time you packed your bags. The shoestring budget which you juggle on throughout the time you are outside the place. Mostly, though it is the fear of being able to make it, the fear of being lost and unimportant in the course of things…
I met a lot of wanderers this time around though, a lot of people that inspire me to hit the trails and probably I will. Not only because I need to write poetry again, but, because I need to feel at one with myself, because that feeling has gone away with everything that has been happening around me.

To apologize to him

I won’t say his name, I really won’t, but, his he was there when I was breaking off. When I was a glass structure hammered on by society, and he taught me English. He taught me that I was good even if I tried with all my heart to try to stow away all compliments in the “Lies” folder that is at my back of my mind even now. He taught me that being different does not take things away from you, and he taught me literature like no other teacher had. By giving me freedom, he finally made me sit down and analyze the things I was reading.
And I left…
I left because things went awry and I got into a college that would then proceed to enslave me for 6 months or more with their doctrines. i broke open my heart and got depressed and I had left him alone. After asking him questions and finishing up most of the stuff I did not really return to write the last assignment.
I did consider it important, but, I just didn’t have it in me anymore. The college had finally hammered out the passion for literature that I had harbored through thick and thin during the last two years at my school. And I only regained it later, when I decided that I am not going back, no matter what happened. No matter what they did, no matter how much they tried to pull me down to their level.
But, I never apolozised, I never did look back and say sorry and I wish to study at his college someday but, the oceans pose a challenge, and I cannot cross it without gathering up everything I have. But, I will some day.
I shall stand before him and cry, and I would go down on my knees and kiss his feet, and perhaps that would be creepy but, I can move on then, and never ever look back. That would be it, a closing of the chapter…

Writing and Publishing that novel

This is important for every single author who writes novels. I am writing my novel that I wish to publish, something that is small but, special to me nevertheless and it isn’t cutting it yet, but, I am sure it will soon enough. Soon enough I would be running around the planes of madness with love in my veins and I would be pulsing open a music track that somehow fills others with deeper life. And I would have written my novel.
I would have let it spurn out and burn a word onto the people’s minds and I would have had fun while doing it. And some day I would…
But, right now, I struggle from day to day because I cannot find words that would be apt enough to sing along the space. And I am trying harder but, sometimes it just does not connect. I am trying


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