Why do i write...?

It seems unjustified to be writing about anything but the state of the world at a juncture when it lies embroiled in unprecedented conflict and turmoil.  Wars being waged with the sole objective to paralyze economies and gain control are devoid of ideologies,  principles and therefore duplicity. Thankfully, 'Diplomacy for the sake of diplomacy' has  been extradited from the international arena. Instead, unscrupulous attitudes epitomizing the age-old euphemism 'my way or the highway' have taken the centre stage, which is regrettable, but at least not beguiling. Ali Khameni, the Supreme leader of Iran is killed along with 42 others of his entourage. There is jubilation on the streets, and there is also a sea of people advancing like a pillar of strength even as they mourn the death of their leader by foreign powers with vested interests.  Claims are being made vis-à-vis the number of war casualties from all fronts. Videos of  U.S. soldiers solemnly carrying the casket of a martyred serviceman are being flashed across the screens to evoke a sense of patriotism, a by-product of every war: 

...light years of torn youth flapping down a windy street under a sad spring sky

Therefore, it would be puerile if these posts begin to reflect my own despair, and  my incompetence in coping with the constantly changing external environment and the turbulent upheavals of the inner tableau. Yet, when one's ears are satiated with the sound of JCBs and electric saws and hammering of old structures and axing of trees in the neighborhood and the television screens are spitting out news from the battleground, there is nowhere to turn to but to words, and through them, prayfully, to silence.

...a bureau drawer shuts close

Why do I write? A cursory glance at the sluggish pace with which i have been lately posting on my blog,  it may seem I don't have much to share , or may be the Muse has abandoned me to embrace a more spirited scribe. Moreover, with Pegassus errant in the realms of AI, I too may have lost my capacity to fly. So now, I  capitulate to the red richness of Mother Earth. It is here i go seeking heart-shaped pebbles, feathers, wild grasses and fairy flowers.

...the world reeks of exploding stars

Why do I write? Josie, the cat sleeps all day through all my caresses and tickles. Her dreams swirl around in the form of trembling bamboo leaves, courting butterflies, and a cruising  cuckoo hawk with its manic three-note call...an unblemished snake-skin is my find of the day. I offer it to my mother who believes that storing it in her coffers would  attract wealth and good fortune. I marvel at her and the astute faith she has in her beliefs which  have sustained her through 83 sound years. I, on the other hand, wait for my moment of magic/grace when all that is to be known shalt be revealed unto me. In the meanwhile, I write.

inside me 

a slow blind 

imperative 

urging the being 

to brave the

flames smelt 

the self, remold 

recast...

inside me 

emotions 

congeal harden 

like the shell 

of a chrysalis...

somewhere a

brush gently dabs 

with orange a dot 

on each of the folded 

wings: sunrise and 

sunset and the

quest for eternity