A page from my diary

The past few months have been, well, different - starkly so, in terms of a lot of things, and, in particular, writing. The discovery that I could write poetry has certainly been emotionally rewarding, and has raised my literary confidence to levels that I never knew, existed. I feel truly free in the apparently two-dimensional but truly multidimensional world of words. Poems come to me at ease, flowing forth as a fluid would flow when there is a significant pressure difference.

However, poetic as this experience with poetry may be, it has taken a toll on my writing. There is now an urge to dramatize every little thing, and I spend my time involuntarily looking for metaphors to describe them, even worse, desperately trying to rhyme words. I find that while this poetry phase has brought out a couple of good (sorry) poems, what I've incurred substantial losses. Strong opinions have now almost completely been replaced by strong emotions that overwhelm me. I tear up more easily than ever, and even otherwise, have become quite sensitive. My vocabulary in speech has received a blow, and I find it difficult to frame full sentences, at least on paper. This post itself stands testimony.

I realize now, that I have tuned myself to write poetry, and why I stay in this frequency, it is extremely difficult to come up with prose. 60+ poems seems like a good number, and I am considering tuning myself back to the prose frequency - but I do not know what the repercussions will be. I'm slightly tired of putting commas after phrases and starting new lines with capital letters. My more recent poems have become soulless and stale, and this can definitely be counted as a sign. I miss writing long articles where I digress to point out something totally different and then connect it back with the big picture. I miss framing sentences that have poetic metaphors.

But then again, what if my natural current state is to compose poems and not articles? I did not choose poetry - in fact, I believed that I wasn't capable of it, and it came to me of its own accord. Am I disturbing that equilibrium by attempting to go against the flow? Will this result in me getting stuck in a no man's land where I'd be incapable of writing anything? I'm not sure if I can handle that - oh, I'm not talking about missing the appreciation - with all due respect to you folks, I have only a handful of readers, but you people appreciate me even without my writing. I'm worried about there coming a time when my heart is filled with content and my fingers refuse to budge.

This might sound silly, but it feels like a big step to me - perhaps I should write a few more poems? Perhaps touch a hundred? No, the quality is bad already. There are quite a few poems that I've written and kept to myself on a personal medium, for I find them far too sensitive to share - and  then there are half baked ones that I am incapable of completing. I feel inadequate to compose now - perhaps I should take a break. At least from poetry. And I must be ready to digest the fact that I might never be able to compose another poem - that doesn't hit me badly, I feel pretty satisfied with the poems I've written. I couldn't bring myself to write one as good as, say "The Admirer", or "On the Partition". My poems have become dull and repetitive. I'm not dejected or something - I don't need a pep talk now, I'm just weighing the options before making a choice - an obscure one at that. To you, it, I might seem melodramatic - why would there be the question of a choice between one form of writing and another? Well, there is. And I'm not looking for suggestions, I'm just thinking out loudly. And choosing to publish my thoughts. You may choose to ignore this post - in fact, I might tak it down some day, but as of now, I'm just letting it be.

And I don't have to tell you when I make my choice. You'll know.