Reason of not writing is not always lack of inspiration, but fear also. Fear of completeness . For those who haven't words but always have relentlessness to write, inspiration matters but not that much , for them it doesn't matter how bad their grammar or how rubbish there piece of writing is but it is essential as its always therapeutic .
For them writing is not just merely pen down some thoughts , but like a meditation and why not as they forget everything (sometimes even themselves) while writing , or it may be healing a object , even in their rubbish writing you may found some jewels or may be not.
writing is necessary as like breathing but what when some people deprived them from it, what when the only thing they can do for themselves is hurting others. How could they so mean , when there writing is hurting to others why they still writing , ... no they wont, they would leave that.
Day will come , they will lost inspiration , some people too, though life is about moving on, (as Churchill said, "If you going through hell, keep going " or ) but they wont , they found themselves sticked upon some people's memories only, (as those people long moved leaving them). Loosing people is not a new thing, but loosing own part would leave a silence not torments like earlier, silence of solitude .
Perhaps a day come, they would leave there work; writing , not because of people or lack of inspiration but because they cant do that anymore, they would choose to not to write ever, they will slowly loosing themselves too , they would start a process of killing themselves daily, a part of them would die daily . The soul who urges them to write would stop responding then ,or they just wont listen , that would be finished. They won't lost everything but would lost that part which was there own thoughts of reflection , but that day will come, if not now then someday.
Nobody is eternal in this fragile world, not words , thoughts , everything just live their destiny and passes away , just leaving marks of them and memories.
"All our lives are merely one painful, laborious search
for our own graves"
For them writing is not just merely pen down some thoughts , but like a meditation and why not as they forget everything (sometimes even themselves) while writing , or it may be healing a object , even in their rubbish writing you may found some jewels or may be not.
writing is necessary as like breathing but what when some people deprived them from it, what when the only thing they can do for themselves is hurting others. How could they so mean , when there writing is hurting to others why they still writing , ... no they wont, they would leave that.
Day will come , they will lost inspiration , some people too, though life is about moving on, (as Churchill said, "If you going through hell, keep going " or ) but they wont , they found themselves sticked upon some people's memories only, (as those people long moved leaving them). Loosing people is not a new thing, but loosing own part would leave a silence not torments like earlier, silence of solitude .
Perhaps a day come, they would leave there work; writing , not because of people or lack of inspiration but because they cant do that anymore, they would choose to not to write ever, they will slowly loosing themselves too , they would start a process of killing themselves daily, a part of them would die daily . The soul who urges them to write would stop responding then ,or they just wont listen , that would be finished. They won't lost everything but would lost that part which was there own thoughts of reflection , but that day will come, if not now then someday.
Their soul will mourn that day so loudly even universe would scares from that cry , their regretful eyes would wound more painful then ever , that fade smile turn into sarcasm, own shadow would give condolence to lost writing , epitaph would be without any words and may be for some moments poetry would be unemployed ,doom's day for a soul that day.
Tears wont roll down cheek that day , heart wont beat slower but for a person his inner life would finish since then. What they would do after that day, how they would survive , would they celebrate this solitude or live in comatose but surely they wont remain same person.Nobody is eternal in this fragile world, not words , thoughts , everything just live their destiny and passes away , just leaving marks of them and memories.
"All our lives are merely one painful, laborious search
for our own graves"
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