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WRITING



Life seems to be shrunk between past and future and when such thing happens, obviously the view of present remains blurred and congested. With tumbling-walk on the road of life and in the hue and cry of expectations and concerns, life seems like a burdened rock tied to neck. It has been long when I heard the voice of myself but now, is it not too late? ...too late to rejuvenate these dead tissues.

With the last line of above paragraph, I felt my thoughts jumbled, my finger seized and emotions dried. I don’t know why and how, but it is none of my business. I just want to feel myself which never releases out due to inexplicable weight of life and I want to see something which I cannot see when I see myself in mirror daily morning.

For me, writing is like seeing and it is also one that vaporizes the grime from my soul. I believe till I can put my fingers on the keyboard or can hold a pen, I would be never blind nor would my soul be too heavy to carry my life.

Comments

anushree said…
long time dint read anything from you...but this one was short yet was able to convey alot...try to be more regular, may be its too much to ask for..but i just love to read your write ups.
Singh Amit said…
Thanks a lot Anushree..:)
I would try to post more and more...
Keep visiting :)
Cheers!!

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