To write is to cut your vein and bleed. To witness the shades of black and grey emerge from that blood. To notice each cell dance, squirm in pain, crave endless connection, wallow in loneliness, and dissolve as if it never existed.

To write is to dissect the widening gap between your emerging personas. To understand the dissonance. To crave synchronization. To beg for a guiding light. To refuse to let hope die.

To write is to construct something that might pierce the wall of agony eating away at you. To build a scaffold against a collapsing life. To water your heart on fire. To loosen the noose, if only for a moment. To taste a fleeting normalcy before slipping back into chaos.

To write is to capitalize on your ups and downs. To turn them into a commodity. To relish recognition. To crave feedback. To feel connected, yet feel alone. To live off reality. To walk into the unknown. To touch thorns. To lie on roses. To hear roars, shrieks, and melody. To live in paradise. And hell at once.To write is to offer prescriptions of all kinds. To shoot forth what we cannot follow. To teach swimming while drowning. To urge others for a climb while struggling to take a step. To reveal gaps while living with your void. To love people. And to dissolve just as quietly. 

To write is to return to instincts long murdered. To embrace subjectivity. To lose control. To unleash the animal in you. To darken the page with the shadow long carried. To accept that humans aren’t arithmetic but unpredictable, unfixed, and alive.

To write is to bleed quietly. Treat it lightly, and it will expose you. 

© Greater Kashmir