It only seems natural to write the way you imagine things, but it never comes out on paper the way you would want it to. The easiest thing to write about, I think is your opinion. It is based on a judgment and while it may be right or wrong, it is yours at the end of the day. What is most difficult to write about is your imagination because I think it seldom comes out the way you want it to be seen or the way you have seen it. And although one would say that what does it matter, it’s yours too at the end of the day, but no it’s not. What you’ve seen is different from what you’ve produced and making the difference between the two minimal is where lies your satisfaction. Thus, in the former, success is where your satisfaction lies while in the latter, it’s the other way round.
I want to write about the way I imagine things. The way my mind depicts them- of glimpses of weird imagery, of memories of people I’ve seen and those I‘ve never seen but always dreamt, of light from the trees and rivers, of many places neither seen nor visited. Often dreamt of is a boulevard that is covered with leaves that are green and yellow- a mixture of spring and fall- no matter what season it is, it looks like the mechanics of time does not work there because no matter when it is seen, it’s always a time before dusk when I can always listen to the birds chirping and peeping from one branch of the tree to another, that stand on both the sides of the road. I can even see the insects that crawl on the leaves as vividly as one sees them in their lawn. But the mystery of that long boulevard is the bench that lies right in the middle of it: white, made of wood that is always empty, like it’s waiting for a traveler to come by who would sit there giving the bench its due share for which it is placed in the long lonely way.
It looks like this boulevard is a part of some other world; some other universe where creatures such as humans do not exist that might pollute the beauty of it even by their thoughts, though it might have a way towards the humanly world at one end of it, the end from where I always look at it; while the other end of it that I can only see clearly while I squint is light- a light so powerful that it might absorb everything under its influence, a light that although is a total opposite of a Black hole but attracts things the same way a Black hole does; only, this light makes you want to come towards it and be a part of it as opposed to a Black hole which would suck you towards it even if you don’t want to be absorbed into it to be disappeared forever.
And while you look at that light at the other end of the boulevard, this long beautiful road seems like it had only been made to honor the illumination, like an attractive pavement that has been paved only to strike the magnificence of the destiny, or an attractive frame added to an already expensive work of art; the road with the trees from both sides- where time never changes, where birds keep chirping forever, where the lonely white bench stands there alone waiting for a passenger, where the insects keep crawling on the green and yellow leaves- only stays there in the hope that someday someone might travel on this path and honor its existence by getting to the other end it–The eternity.
(Jan 31, 2013)