The water sprinkles
The roar of a nearby car engine did nothing to break my reverie.
As I walked down the muddy track, I was motivated, inspired and determined. It was a fine walk. I, absentmindedly, went on. I don’t take music to my walks. My voice is my music. Know why? Because I write as I walk. The fragments of everything that I see around me, I write.
It wasn’t always like this. It started when I took the initiative. Minutes passed while walking and suddenly, out of the blue, I could hear my own voice. I spoke about the soft wind that made no effort to move the dark leaves on a distant tree. I spoke about the cars that went by. And then, the wind finally blew away that little girl’s hair. I got more to speak about. It went on…
If you are reading this, chances are, you are on a quest to find your muse back. Are you afraid of scratching the tip of your pencil on the forlorn paper? Don’t be. You might just end up scratching your head instead. Writing is a lark that prompts you to say something when you hear it’s song. Writing is not a beast that you ought to run away from.
If you wait today, make sure you do that every single day of your life. Sometimes you got to break the queue and take what you want. Or you might just end up heading back for home when everyone else has had their fair share. No, we don’t want that for you. There are two reasons you don’t write today: you’re probably in love with the tap of the keys as you write or you are dead scared to read what you write. Remember: A crooked road always seems better than a no road. You need somewhere to begin with!
Look around you, write about that woman on the bench-perhaps she’s waiting for someone? Perhaps she’s only pondering over her past? Oh, look! The gardener is watering the soft morning grass! What do you see? See how the splashes of the water wreck the mud. The sprinkles sparkle against the early sun. How do I put it? There is beauty but no one to admire it.
I am ready to bleed against the paper. Are you?