So, today I read in Island of the World (really really amazing book) this quote,
Just like legs, poetic imagination needs daily exercise.
Well, that’s been weighing on me today, and I know that as an “author-wannabe,” that’s true. But, tonight – this is all I’ve got:
I see the pen and paper,
sitting glaringly in the corner of the room.
They are staring at me with some sort of cruel
guilt-trip, motivational speech laced in them.
But, I glance at my watch,
I mention to them how the clouds are descending, and it really looks quite monotonous out today.
I’m sure it would actually be counter-productive to take the time to get them out,
dust them off, put them in order for the exercise.
But they seem to be directly opposite, and entirely highlighting
my empty notebooks and unfinished manuscripts.
So, I argue with them for long, useless minutes, giving my excuses,
and of course waiting for their smart remarks back to me.
But, in the end, they win.
Mind you, they only win as I hear my empty excuses and, likewise empty promises for the future.
They win only because I was right in the beginning, for looking, and thinking.
I wanted the exercise all along, of course,
but had felt that the more responsible use of my time would be spent elsewhere, in some trudging boring work that was expected of me.
But now, ah! bliss! I shall sit and take the pen to the paper.
I have been waiting days for this freedom to exercise.