Idinraha unshackled...

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May 26, 2005

feverish

I try to tell myself, I do not need to write poems every day, it is not natural, it is not the norm, but the white screen and the keyboard are such a tease. And the need in me, to say something, to write, all the images I see in my head, all the different situations, always set on a stage inside my head. Maybe they could connect me, connect my brain to some sort of a chip a computer so it reads me, as I live, and register, allowing me thr release.

Oh how I love the dance of my fingers on the key board, and sometimes I catch myself going at it so feverishly, like playing a piano, and following the note, fast and merciless. hours bec0ome so short and pass so quickly and the joy that stays with me is so very delicious.
Sometimes the images mix, sometimes they stay too long, some times I lose them before I can birth them on the paper, and I miss the feeling I got when I thought about them first, the feeling of wonder, like unwrapping a gift with thin the wide eyes of a child, there is somuch expectaions, so much wonder, for you only hold the key, and do not know where it takes you, that first magical word, words, or the sentence, that first image that you hunt fo all day. You put it on the paper and then it comes of you independent, takes its own shape, and IT takes you, shows you what it has within it, and as your finger run on the keys you have this look of .........

When I was younger how good my day was depended solely on how much I had written that day. At any chance i could get, I used to write some of them in the classroom, while staring out, detatched, and taken within my world, outside everything around me. Last night driving home i was thinking what would I do if I could not write again, if no other poems come to me and the gods of inspirations leave me, well I will paint, I will sculp, I would do something, i cut hairs, put make up on beautifull women, I design dresses, as feverishly as I write.

I feel so blessed, so blessed that I have this, I could sit here and write, knowing you will read it. usually writers travel, hunting for new experiences, new inspirations, and I don't, I do not live the life of a writer, I am a middle aged, over grown man, who lives a normal life with my wife and children. And the stability of having them allows me these flights of fancy.

I have left so many carachtyers in so many places inside my head, promissing to go back to them, I have written over eighty pages about the life of my Grandfather and left it somewhere, there are women I know, young girls, who have so much to say, and I have promissed them also that I will bring them to life. For I still have to make a living, and live within so many different parameters. I feel blessed. I do definitely feel so blessed.

Posted by Idinraha at May 26, 2005 04:18 PM

Comments

Posted by: cycho at May 27, 2005 11:29 AM

Posted by: Maryam at May 27, 2005 07:11 PM

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