#possessed (Write)

I picked up this pen
With nothing much to write,
But to let my hand hold it,
And let it scribble to its might,
There are noises it wants to write about

Beautiful pictures it recalls seeing
Captured moments,
Music,
Love, never felt but sensed,
Sensed in the living of others, with others.
Pain, hideous pain,
And how it holds together humanity,
It seems a happy world would crumble, fall,
It wants to write anything, anything at all,
Something preferably serene,
Something that would soothe the soul of the one reading these words,
Something that would whisper delight in their ears,
The pen has its own might, its own mind.
I am not writing this, I am simply holding it my clasp,
It wishes to write about the final moments of a dying person,
It wishes to write of that beautiful moment when you smile thinking of someone who hates you,
The silliness when you fall in love with an actress,
When you dream yourself to be standing next to yourself,
It wants to know how the person reading this would like to meet himself, his own self,
It wants you to think about it, yes you,
Or how someone accidentally kisses someone,
How emotions toy with our living, how they shape us,
It wants to write about death, the serene end of everything,
The mind, the heart,
It wants to shed this writer’s remains in these words,
So that he can relive,
That someone, anyone, everyone, would revive him in his mind,
It wants to write, just let it,
Have a book around with you always, always,
Don’t let it stop, don’t dare stop,
Don’t decorate your writing, there’s no time,
Quick get it out, trap it in ink, in your words,
Let the pen posses you, let it use you, let it exploit you,
Don’t let your carpel tunnel make it stop,
Write, write, write, write till the pen wants you to,
Write till it has got words in its mind,
Write till you’ve written every last word you know,
Write till you run out of words,
Write till you start repeating yourself,
Write till it wants you to,
Make love to your writings,
Collapse in its arms,
Exhausted, proud, like a doting lover,
Look back where you started it,
The first line, read it, now,
And smile when it says,
“I picked up this pen, with nothing much to write”Chaitanya Dorwat

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