Ironies excite me.

The cursor keeps blinking on a blank screen. 

My mind races across the vastness of the universe, scavenging through the leftovers of the great authors and poets that have come and gone, finding so much, but disappointing myself with my inability to put it on paper.
There is an ocean of stories yet to be told, a void that calls us, irrespective of if our words have the power to ignite flames in the hearts of those who read our feeble attempts at poetry. There are legendary loves that crave our attention, universes left to be created, yet in anticipation, quests yet to be made, fights yet to be fought, revolutions yet to strike cities that are in dire need of them. All they wait for is to be written about. To make the plunge from ordinary to legendary, words of depth and valour wait in anticipation of being strung together to form a masterpiece that transforms lives, giving hope to some and courage to the others.
Yet, here I sit, engulfed by the darkness of the absence of a certain talent. Maybe years hence, there will be a moment when the dam that my mind has erected will collapse, and my words will flow unobstructed.
Till then, I will write what my limited capability allows me to, in hope that it doesn’t end up as much trouble to the people who are susceptible to it.

The cursor still blinks on a blank screen.



Original photo by RiAvantGarde.

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