There is the clutter gathering in the deep drawers of your mind. Some of it makes sense, some other utter nonsense. You put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. And words begin to spew themselves out. You let the mind wander and in an utter ramble. As the roam extends, the layers begin to appear. Each layer is demanding you to transgress your own boundaries. Fly or simply walk the extra mile. Push yourself to the hilt. You begin to feel the words. Your hands begin to work magic. Magic not just in words, but in the essence too. Essence, which is now prepared to persevere. Endure your heart till it ends. As you see the end near, you want to dip into the middle. Again. The middle is fingered. So the start gets altered. Back to the ending, that now seems mature. But it’s never the end really. Peeping through the end, there is a sweet beginning hinting. Another one. Ready to wear a new garb on the same old body. But you know, for now, this is where this spectacle ends. The other can wait. Just a while…before pen talks to paper or fingers fiddle the keyboard again.
Life, to a writer, is a constant stroll…