Sir Philip Sidney's Sonnet 1 from 'Astrophil and Stella' is my inspiration for today's piece (in a broad sense).
On the surface, this particular sonnet seems like a run-of-the-mill piece on one-sided love, but it low-key talks about writer's block. The narrator is frustrated over not finding the right words to express his feelings to his beloved. He is overwhelmed and weary. He turns to other authors for inspiration, but they are all strangers to him. He is perhaps also scared of being slighted by the high and the mighty for being a poor creator - all familiar feelings for writers who put their heart and soul into their work. You can check out this sonnet here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45152/astrophil-and-stella-1-loving-in-truth-and-fain-in-verse-my-love-to-show
But eventually, it is originality that makes every writer stand out. We are all here making sense of everything, and everyone has a unique imprint that is one hundred percent singular to them. I am grateful to everyone who shares what they write.
Say you invest more than a decade of your life in something that's doomed for failure. Years of blood, sweat and tears amount to nothing. The impermanence of life hits the hardest when you can think of 100 other rosy things you sacrificed only to sit alone on the trash pile of disappointment and lost hopes that'll keep reminding you of an uneventful youth.
A lot of us have this conditioning of appearing at our best selves at all times. We cannot afford to fall from grace and that's deeply toxic. Keeping up appearances suffocates your core, and yet you don't have the strength to reveal the scars you'd rather conceal. You want to cry, but breaking down is a luxury. So you get your stoic face on and cake up in layers of pretend. It's an all-consuming chore and all that you're left with is a tired soul feeling alienated and unseen under the burden of secrets that eat you away.
I pray everyone has that sacred safe space where they can embrace their truth and unwind without a care in the world.
What if someone comes and tells you that your life holds no promise at all? That you'll always be stuck in mediocrity and you're bound to suffer forever no matter what you do. You'll earn but only this much, you'll settle in the name of love, and there would never be any worthy acknowledgement for anything that you do.
When we get older, dreams seem more and more absurd, and accepting mediocrity becomes the practical choice.
This poem is dedicated to everyone who's still trying against all odds. There's nothing disgraceful about being stuck in a bad place as long as you don't let yourself rot. If sweet lotus can get its act together, you can too! Whatever revives you is sacred!
Liberation from all concealed accords To fathom depths beyond control Few tend to record it all in words Forming journals behind closed doors, Keeping it untouched by world Trying to follow virtues and be reasonable Cloaking myself with allegories of seasons Poetic head keeps spinning around vehemence Printing blueprints for more metaphors I sense petrichor after raining all emotions Clandestine cataclysm is all assuaged by silence With mellow beam on face painting picture, Felicitous frames freed from fallen frowns I keep lurking to fulfil my desires in this town, Populated by musings with perplexing crowd Feeling temptations from beyond my soul Some days malignancies make me laugh, Keeping me bonded with munificence i love Mostly lost in my own bewildering world, Trying to envisage days that are yet to come For this voyage for clairvoyance seems unreal, Albeit i try to perceive it all in my intuitions Synchronising all my onerous secrets It becomes an inseparable facet within this mind Cautiously ingraining conclusions For it is not a curse to find tranquility in chaos Especially when it is unseen and Unheard Only felt profoundly by this heart Beating in melodies of own perfection