Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Blogging from A-Z: Z for Zilch

Z for Zilch
Image from the web

Everything that starts must come to an end, everything that begins shall encounter a finale. We start our journey full with aspirations and desires and then enter the hemisphere of zilch, the ending, the nothingness. Nevertheless, the aftertaste of fatigue and exhaustion of our journey is often accompanied by a feeling of bliss and satisfaction that generally qualifies the ending.

 In the middle of the nil of the null and the void of the virtual world, we have been exploring our creative talents for a period of thirty days. Here, for the last month, we have been posting our daily compositions of a myriad nature thereby proving that even virtual zilch is not devoid of merit and emotion. Our journey together testifies to the fact that despite the strictures of form and aspect we have been taught to attribute to any writing activity of a formal, and even in many cases informal, writing, the proper usages we must remember, the clichés we must never use, we ultimately learn that what matters is the development of one’s own style, one’s own comfort zone within oneself as one writes and nothing else. This is the truth that I gathered from my month long activity of writing from A-Z.

 Over the month, I have read blog posts on fictional characters and books, on herbs and cooking, on philosophy and daily ruminations, and they not only proved to me that all it matters is the task of putting pen to paper or more exactly, typing words and letters in a virtual papyrus, but also that in most cases, all it needs to begin a writing activity is as simple a prompt as a word beginning with one particular letter or the other.  I am at awe with the immense capability of the human mind, the talents it possesses, and its intrinsic philosophy only ready to pour down with a tilt of the beaker that sustains it. One letter, one simple letter led each of us to consider so many things: places, characters in novels, recipes, décor, etc, and still we are not satiated. The jorum still holds more ideas that will bloom in the course of the future life.

I stand under the hallowed portals of nothingness with a mind not empty, but rather full to the brim with happy experiences of writing. I agree I have taken a lot of liberties with the creative challenge of blogging from the first to the last letter of the English alphabetical series, but in the end as I check the posts submitted and posted in my blogger page, I am satisfied. I indeed have written on each and every letter, and in the process have discovered a fresh knack for writing poetry again. The escapades into the past also offered me immense satisfaction and joy as well the suspense of thinking about a word/idea to write daily. 

 I know that even though we are not to type any post tomorrow, that we will have zilch at hand tomorrow concerning this writing challenge, I will find myself happily dwelling on the fulsome experience I gathered from my own writing and from the others’ I read.  In the zilch and negativity of the world, tonight I wish to depart with a happy note of a fulsome tomorrow.

Blogging from A-Z Challenge: Y for Yesterday, a poem

Image from the web

Yesterday you needed a word to create dreams,
those golden reveries of mountainous aspirations
covering any distance, any terrain
without difficulty.

Yesterday you could start anywhere,
unawares, unwary, and let yourself
forget your destination, and enjoy
the going.

Today you feel the need to look back at the silent desert
Of memory, and brush the smeared faces of uncouth
peccadilloes white.

Today you wish to crush the beans and berries
under your hobnailed feet and forget those words,
those sights and breaths that remind you
Of yesterday.

Yesterday you were born to the warmth
of a cradle song, to the cries of wonder
and love for your downy, blotchy form,

Yesterday you listened to the fire of youth,
you imagined the sun and the earth as your legal legacy.
Remember the ten little green globules at hand, and the
one in the sky, white and freckled and often eaten away by a monster?

Today they strike you as dark, the white globule, the white star,
you smell their green-white and imbibe stale yellow.

Today as you tell yourself the story of scattered eyes and
lamb-flock like dreams dropping from a blue, blue sky,
you ignore the loud bird-noises and tell yourself
           you were afraid of the sunless dark that blanketed