Its hard to begin this post. It hurts, it indeed does. It reminds me of my sweetest dream, that I stabbed to death, and its dead now, and at times I miss it.
I started writing songs almost at the end of 11 Standard. I was preparing for IIT’s and was busy in my life with studies and things happening around me. I was an introvert, as pure an introvert as I am an extrovert now. The only way I used to express my feelings and pain was by means of Poems and Songs that I used to write.
There are not many people who know that I write songs, and the number even drops when it comes to people who have read my songs and poems. It was a personal thing, like a diary where I used to write everything exactly as I used to feel them. I don’t know how was I able to create them, they were good and I know it. People have read them, appreciated them. Couple of friends asked me get them published somewhere so that I will be recognized, but they were personal, and were supposed to be that way only.
Then School ended and I entered a new Phase of my life, my College Started. The dream was there, and the will to work was there too. What was not there were the guts. When I joined college, I made it clear that I wanted to be there, on stage, performing live, with my songs being played. I looked for people with similar interests like mine, but failed.
Then I entered a phase of my life that I will never forget. Those 6 months were the worst 6 months of my life. The pain and suffering I went through was enormous. I was breaking every single day, dying every moment, but unable to quit. Though a couple of times about calling it a day, but stayed. I still remember those moments, it still hurts.
The silence grew thicker, and the pain grew more and more. My Poems and Songs were my escape. I used to write all my feelings down, in form of songs and poems, I used to keep myself from crying while writing those things, but my Pen used to bleed for sure. I had friend around me, friends who were always upto read something that I wrote. One friend was reading one of my song, when he stopped in between, returned me the paper and said, “I can’t read it any further, it seems as if your pen was bleeding while you were writing this. I don’t know how you wrote this thing, but I will pray for you. May your misery end.”
That was not the only time when someone said something of that kind after reading my song. That was the beginning, the pain grew, so did the bleeding. When I read it now, I am almost numb, I remember every drop that fell and everything that caused that intense suffering I went through.
Few months later, things changed again, they changed for good this time. The pain subsided and Happiness entered my life. I still used to write songs. But this time they were less painful and more romantic. But every single time I used to pick my pen to write something, I used to feel the pain, the pain of the bleeding pen….
It was like mental torture. Even though the words were soothing and gay, I used to be back there, to the old songs. I discussed it with a couple of friends and they asked me to let it go, but it was not easy. I used to read the old songs, still have them, though now I don’t read them anymore. And I came to the conclusion that if this will not end, then this will end me, and the decision was made.
I haven’t written anything of that kind for almost 2.5 years. I killed my only dream and it hurts. I am here, alive, breating, smiling, but it is not how it looks. Everything has fallen apart. I wish I can write again, but I know it will take away everything I have with me now.
I am in a dilemma, one that will have great impact on my life, and I am uncertain of what to do. And at times I ask myself, should I let my Pen Bleed again? I am still looking for an answer, not sure if I will find it in near future.