(In which I show an evidence of being productive despite the lack of posts.)
***
I know you’re not asking and you don’t mind if the last entry was dated last month. But as the keeper of this site I feel obliged to post something. It would be nice if it’s a review of the last book I’ve read with a final note about the new book I’m on but since I haven’t even finished At Risk by Alice Hoffman halfway, the sight of a review on this blog will take time. I thought of posting the titles of my gradually increasing to-be-read pile but that would only make me depressed that I still have to read three hundred pages to officially start on another art fiction. So to compensate and to explain to my constant reader/s (I know you’re not more than three) I decided on posting the reasons for my procrastination. There are two.
The first one is this.
I made another decision lately – that I will be making pencil drawings of roses. And I started with this one. It took me almost two weeks to finish it, having only a couple of hours of work or more each day. I had to do this while working or during breaks in between classes. Now my current floral project was left pending to be fair with the book I should be reading.
The other, I guess, is more obvious. I write poetry. I admit that I am a slow reader. I ruminate when ambushed by a heavy scene or a thought-provoking line. Then sometimes, memories flash through. And then images. And then words. And then music. Actually, there isn’t any particular order. The chronology may change anytime. Right now, it’s music then memories then words.
Nirdla (Part II)
Should I regret
that I’ve asked what those words meant?
Those words that shouted messages
As secret as yourself.
Should I be glad
that you answered despite
your taciturnity and nonchalance?
Should I be happy
that you shared four minutes of melody
of guitars and drums
and voices lamenting,
questioning?
Or should I just understand
that your reticence is suffering made calmer?
That your smile is a curtain for fears
And smears
And tears?
And that the melody is a sanctuary
for your silent agony?
That the melody is yours for her . . .
. . . and now mine for you?
(For the first part of this verse click here.)
Photo source:
Full Bloom
