Dispel the crowds from the pathways, Faakir,
I am just dozing in the dust, not dying.
I guess it is a pale shadow of the original. I have always had this problem with translations. But sometimes, no other words convey the mood, or if they are there, I fail to grab them in the right sequence.
As some of you know, I’ve been bobbing in and out of a rabbit hole, a parallel universe of late. This other world is none other than my own muse I am striving to sculpt with syllables and syntax. My lot varies from day to day, and night to night. At times I grope in a boundless mine; at times I squint in scintillating light. There are moments it gets dark, very dark, in the world out here. And then the sun rises with the promise of a workday to be slogged away at a grumpy desk in my old office that keeps me fed. All I am trying though in this big, tangled world, is to be a wisp of breeze on a river of grass. Or a blade of grass, stirring in a lisp of breeze.
It has been quite around this corner of the web for the past two months, like a puny wharf, a mute witness to ships passing by to dreamy destinations. Like hopeful passengers, many provocations, many joys and pains have lingered to board boats of expressions. But, like a fasting naga, I have refused to lend them a thread or a morsel, leave alone a vessel.
If you are reading this, I am grateful to you for that confidence in my pen, which alone has earned me a sliver of Platinum from Indian Top Blogs. Do read about it here, with the knowledge that it is but a reflection of love of my readers. Many thanks to you all!