Why do people write? To express their thoughts about a particular subject. To weave stories out of their imaginations for pleasure of self and others. To contemplate on random but personally very important things. To communicate.
Does writing on a subject makes the author an expert on the subject? Or is it necessary that only an expert of the subject has authority on write on a subject?
What makes a person write, sometimes for months and years on end?
Does the author write taking self into consideration from outside or inside?
Why would anyone read some random guy's book or article? What entices the reader? Does he look for a companion or an alternative point of view or perhaps an imaginary friend who transports him/her to distant places with rituals and customs never dreamed of. The plight of a character in a situation, his frustration, his struggle, his revelation, his salvation.
I have been here for sometime now, treading on the beach.
I do not how long I'll be sitting on the shore and build sand castles,
only to see them being washed away by the waves.
They come and go all day, from dawn to dusk, restlessly.
The moonlight peeking its way into the sky in presence of the aging Sun,
the glory withering away slowly.
The pearl subtly gleams in the darkness,
enticing the sea to aspire for its warm glow.
Only to crash down mercilessly on its own belly.
But I do know that there will come a time
when the pearl will dutifully get back into the shell,
as the Ball of Fire rises from the ashes
And bring light upon the world.
Does writing on a subject makes the author an expert on the subject? Or is it necessary that only an expert of the subject has authority on write on a subject?
What makes a person write, sometimes for months and years on end?
Does the author write taking self into consideration from outside or inside?
Why would anyone read some random guy's book or article? What entices the reader? Does he look for a companion or an alternative point of view or perhaps an imaginary friend who transports him/her to distant places with rituals and customs never dreamed of. The plight of a character in a situation, his frustration, his struggle, his revelation, his salvation.
I have been here for sometime now, treading on the beach.
I do not how long I'll be sitting on the shore and build sand castles,
only to see them being washed away by the waves.
They come and go all day, from dawn to dusk, restlessly.
The moonlight peeking its way into the sky in presence of the aging Sun,
the glory withering away slowly.
The pearl subtly gleams in the darkness,
enticing the sea to aspire for its warm glow.
Only to crash down mercilessly on its own belly.
But I do know that there will come a time
when the pearl will dutifully get back into the shell,
as the Ball of Fire rises from the ashes
And bring light upon the world.
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