Words, Songs and My Life
Blog :Yeha, Whatever!
Date: 12/9/2011 3:42:40 PM
“Writer: Dead. Poet: Alive?”
I can see that you are tired of me bombarding poem after poem on you. My emotional word-vomit just doesn’t seem to end, does it? (Last blog-post was in August!) So here, after the longest time, I have decided to write something, even if it’s for the heck of it.
Poems are so easy to write. There is no obsessive need to make sense. Just end it wherever you want, it doesn’t have to have a conclusion. A poem is frozen in that feeling. The poem has not reasoned or rationalized with me. It is so raw and surprisingly I let it be. I don’t tame it. If I have obsessed over a thought too many times, I am thinking in circles and getting nowhere, it is at these times I have to write it down as a poem: just as it is. Like the final rational thought: ‘Yeah, enough of unnecessary contemplation done. Now time to tear this feeling off of my heart, keep it still on the paper, let it live on another plane.’
Many times, I lose out on the feeling. Sometimes it is too intense, and I really don’t feel that strongly; and sometimes there’s so much more to say and it remains unexpressed. Sometimes I just can’t think! Of the apt words. Of pretty pictures to paint with words. Of metaphors and of rhythm. Sometimes, the other writers are so much better than me. And most of the times, all song-artists are better than me.
When I am happy, I am happy. I don’t need to write poems to understand why I am happy.
There is so much I feel but there is no vent. I can shiver with a thought but I can’t articulate it to get it across convincingly, wholly, without any dilution, without corrupting what I have originally felt. My poems are generally underlined with a ‘Don’t-you-understand?!!’ sentiment.
Picture me when I hear Ranbir Kapoor lip-syncing to “Jo bhi main kehna chahu.. barbaad kare alfaaz mere..”
(I’ve obsessed over all Rockstar songs. Intensely.)
Talking about songs, man… I really regret that I can’t understand music. I mean I can enjoy a particular musical piece only through the words. I cannot enjoy only instrumental. Makes me sad.
It is so important to find a non-verbal expression of yourself. Words restrict.
God! I realize that I give an impression that I am a depressed/pessimistic person with a fairly good vocabulary. (I say fairly, because smileys are my crutches and many times I use words like ‘stuff’, ‘fucking’, ‘like’ and ‘awesome’ seems to be the only adjective I have learnt in all these years.)
But I’m neither depressed nor pessimistic. I am disappointed and cynical.
Don’t say it’s the same thing.
It’s just that I naively expected life to be so automatically awesome. And now, when you’ve to prove your worth for every fucking little thing, it irritates me. Why do I have to scream (read: lobby) to be counted in? Why is good work not enough? Why is it so hard t0 find where you belong?
So many times I’ve abandoned things midway because I am so angry at how things really work, the behind-the-scenes of every dream that is sold to us. I don’t see the point of starry-eyed idealism anymore.
I wish I was a freaking money-minting genius to damn people I can’t stand.
And if and whenever I talk to some adult about this they have no argument to present or they explain how this rebellion is just a teenage phase.
Teenage phase? Really? Promise me it’s just that. Because I am tired of being unimpressed, uninspired and indifferent.
Now the bigger question everyone thinks I need to answer immediately:
What am I gonna do in life?
Other than blogging regularly, I really don’t know. Right now, maybe I am just sorting my head, forming my own principles and theories in preparation for a loooooooong ride of existence. (All this only to avoid the situation where I systematically destroy all that I care about without even trying: just to add a little drama to a monotonous life, to feel something I was promised I would be given.)
It is like straightening a crumpled piece of paper. I see what it could have been; I see the wrinkles I created myself; I see it’s not over yet, I can still make do with this. And it’s more than enough. I think so.
Writer. Righter. Right!- er? errr..!? … … … ,
“You’ll never succeed in idealizing hard work. Before you can dig mother earth you’ve got to take off your ideal jacket. The harder a man works, at brute labor, the thinner becomes his idealism, the darker his mind.”
D. H. Lawrence
[P.S: Dekha?? Zyada intense ho gaya na..? Get used to it.. I talk morbidly. ]