Lately I have been having this incessant desire to pen a decent piece of writing. In fact the desire has turned more into desperation and that is what is so unsettling about the writers’ block. It is such as awful feeling to wanting to write but not being able to because one you don’t have a topic to write on and two because you have lost your ability to wield the pen which was once your magic wand of words. I feel like an amateur swimmer who fervently beats his limbs, splashes a lot of water, get exhausted and at the end of it realizes he hasn’t moved his torso even an inch ahead. When I look back at the posts here, I am amused by the simplicity of the topics. At the same time I am exasperated having to look up the meaning of most words. They say the easiest way to break the block is to write. Now that’s quite an irony in my opinion. And what’s even more ironical is that as I write about it, it strikes again. This piece, like most of the other recent ones, is going to have an abrupt end. It’s going to leave me with a feeling of having walked out of a movie theater in the interval…THE END
The lone traveler wondered what could inspire him even has lofty mountains, gurgling rivers and minty fragrant woods surrounded him. He looked at the waters that bounced off the golden sunrays which had just descended from the clear blue skies that stretched endless in the space above. He watched the birds fly home crying in joy that echoed in the valley bounty with delicate wild flowers. The grass was moist from the morning dew and had donned the perfect shade of bright green with the offerings of the rain gods. The wind whistled through the woods and the trees chuckled innocently, as the wind rendered madness to its leaves as it passed through them. He squatted on the rugged river bed and untied his boots. He dumped his rucksack and tucked his camera inside. All his life he had seen beauty. Now he felt the desire to experience it. In the past years he’d explored many untrodden lands and captured the finest of moments through his lenses. He had captured the skies in every hue, the waters in all moods, and the flora in all its lushness. He had captured the stuff of dreams. He had framed them into timeless portraits and landscapes of all measures. Today as he devoured the candid beauty of nature with his naked eye he experienced a sudden burst of happiness. They say about photography that there is a reality so subtle that it becomes more real than reality. It took him tons and thousands of shots to realize what it means. For now, his blink was his only shutter, his mind the only film, his eyes the only lenses and his heart the only audience to this panorama of unspeakable beauty that lie dressed in the choicest of shades before him.