Power of Manifestation is a Lie

 

Om Ganpataye Namah

The desire to write again has made a comeback after years. It seemed over and done with because I had decided that it was better to be silent than be the manufacturer of stupid sentences and stupid stories .

These are the rare little poems I had managed to cough up to sum up my situation:

The Poet is Dead

It is said

That he is dead

Not for the lack of bread

But coz the troops he lead

The words in his head

In release or in dread

Packed their bags

And fled!

 

Drought of Verse

As I unravel    

Uncomplicate 

Steer my dinghy 

To a different fate

Unwittingly 

I close the gate

To rhymes, limericks

And the witty ditty

And dressed up words

That I once found pretty

 

My head is always abuzz with disjointed thoughts jumping from one to another in quick succession. I have wasted a substantial amount of my adulthood living in an imaginary future, an addiction so pleasant that the present ceased to exist in my reality... Especially the last three years saw me living in a fantasy land every second of the day- but this time I had myself entirely fooled- I made up my mind that when this imagined future became real, I would ensure I lived in the present. By using every atom of my being, every thought particle and every breath I began the manifestation process. Documenting the process and its success seemed worth the effort.

However, today as I finally begin to write, the proverbial rug has been yanked from under my feet. The power of manifestation is whimpering by my side and I am smarting from the ruthlessness with which the rosy glasses have been pulled off my eyes. Though the feeling of being utterly rudderless and at a constant loss of words is gradually receding after three months, I am still coming to terms with the very bitter pill that fate or divinity or whatever the hell it is called, has decided to administer to me…the understanding that evaded me thus far- the only thing to do is to be in the present. All else is complete and total BS.