Endless contemplation, boundless confusions, still unaware of what I seek. A respite or a siphon? A huge entangled web of thoughts, growing larger and fuzzier, making me difficult to breathe.
As I look out of my window, I see the mango tree. It’s tawny boughs dancing free. Pregnant with sweetness that every living soul desires, never does it fails to give, till the time tires.
Being my first attempt at writing, I am still unsure of what I want to pen down. But nevertheless I want to let my trail of thoughts flow into this Pensieve, where I can look upon them in times of distress, times when I need a pat on my back, an open gush of oxygen.
My mind is like a blank canvas right now, white. My fingers are like a painter holding a brush but unsure of how and where to start. I want to paint it. Fill it with colours. But I am scared whether it would turn out to be beautiful. Beautiful, with shades and strokes. I want my creation to talk to me, inspire me. I doubt whether I can do it. But yes, I can. I sound very dual because I am thinking dual. With every bated breath comes an anxiety, an urge. Very quietly an idea creeps into my dark mind. My mind, dark without illumination.
So much to think, so less to say. When can I ever fill this void? Incomplete as it sounds,
I will still leave it that way.