The Desert

The hot sun basked in the reigns of nature and forced life to come to a halt.Like yesterday, today also was a dry day. There was not one drop of water to drink not even a bit of shelter near me to hide my face into.I had to face the sun, face the mighty heat and stay under it for no purpose.I am trapped here in this desert with no voice and life except the rhythmic beats of vultures searching for its prey and the prey jumping around to save them. For their survival these preys can go to any extent.Its not that they can survive long enough here in this stark arid desert devoid of flora and fauna. They know they will die yet in order to just compete with the vulture, to show that however small and weak they may be considered they can escape the wrath of a bully they have led me to this far in the desert. I tracked them in hope to find an oasis of hope but now i realize like me they are also lost yet not bewildered and disappointed. They still have a purpose : the purpose to survive and escape the vulture eyeing for them. The vulture too like a strict ardent force has entered through the sand storms to prove its superiority.It could have stayed in the region where sand storms were passive but the chances of finding a prey would be hard. It chose to let go of comfort and distrust future when it could see the prey running down under.It can b.e coined as immaturity on the vultures part.But actually its more like the need of the hour. The spontaneity to earn profit is the larger of the urges to take any decision in life.The future is driven by the present and the present by the past which was once a future too.Its all so fabricated intrinsically.No one seems to give up, trying hard to survive. It is the survival of the fittest. And i am stuck here in the middle of this desert with this realization of survival being the driving force of life.It feels like a nightmare but with the bitter taste of reality: the acceptance of the survival instinct which blinds all the rationale humans boast about.

The beginning

So its almost midnight and I am beginning of this new journey of blogging. I am no professional blogger but just a person full of thoughts of all genres and kinds ready to experiment with this new idea of mine. I have been writing since long but this idea to share it through a blog settled in just recently. It was not due to a sudden urge to be recognized or be known as such. It was just really a random thought which passed across my neurons at least once for the last few days before I finally re opened my blog.

Everyone is a writer. Some are writer in grief, some are writers in celebrations. Some are writers of their personal diaries some are just irregular diary scribblers. Some are just the regular lover teenagers while some are aspiring poets and writers. We all write they all write.So writing seems to be inherent within one and all.

In all walks of life in all spheres of life in every profession at every dial of life you are bound to find a heart ready to explode out blurt out all the expressions onto paper disguised in colorful inks.

So here is one such writer re inventing his role as a story teller as a book writer as a novelist as a poet but above all as a human being.

Panno ki syahi mit sakti hai
Yaadon ki janzeero ki tarah
Par apni likhawat badal nahi sakti
Haatho ki takdeero ki tarah.

AK