Creativity- Things Which You Never Thought of!
Recounting each day pass by such inertly, there isn’t any time left- of all that must be done with this three day life. The curtain closes in on you and the visitors have long departed- and left are you with your solitary mind, one that has been depressed for quite a while. Teachers labeled you weak, giving you a number that was equivalent to the last prize in class, and each whisper of the ordinary, it is such judgmental.
Everyone around you is in such haste and they forget that you even exist. For the better of the race, the congratulatory remarks matter most, and that child behind the last bench, unaware of his own creation, all that he asks for is a life that is somewhat special.
Well, to this and to everything that there is inside this untimely world. The pulsation inside each mind, it wants to spill and continue with the fascination, and the inadequate society, it lies there like a plastic ball playing the game of conformance such progressively.
To that same child who is depressed because the teachers always pick up on him, or the parents are always arguing and forcing- the nature of your future most fitting. “O dear mom and dad…please understand that I can no longer think like the ordinary, bright and colorful child. I’m too dull for this incessant society, will you please leave me alone- inside my own skin.”
Words, prose of the unsteady stars, he watches each flower lose its scent such unimaginatively. It was as if nature were designed to have it contained, only to be snatched off after reaching a certain point in life or beauty in such denying brackets. He, for the first time in life, is able to think beyond the parameters of today, and with all that has been transpiring such eloquently, he saw his face on top of one of the adamant flowers.
It wants to say something to you, although highly unresponsive to the shatter all around. And in silence, which always did pleasure, he gets up and scribbles on a thin, uncoated sheet on his left. It has been lying there for quite a while, and last seeing it, he did wonder, of all that ought to be done with that drunk wall.
Expressions are pouring like lava, such indiscriminant and elusive- there isn’t any word that did not touch the cosmos inside that same room. And your room, there are lights such enthralling, the crowd which were busy at the baseball game, they seem to be directed towards you right now.
The fingers are getting undressed and you have never felt like this. The mind is nothing but a playground of unrelated prose whose act is in each thought that takes him to the imaginary world. Beside him, the brightest child in class, who has memorized the entire set of textbooks it seems- she stands there unaware of all that is going on- never will the commoner get to know the laws of such creative contingency.
Pages won’t stop feeling and the soft fingers of April, it is in frenzy but it is not. The art of controlling such elation, for the winds have learnt to master it. “But how could he even do it…he does not even know his algebra.” Voices will never stop, and now that he has to address the unwavering crowd who are marveled yet unpleased by such a commotion, all that he could speak of- was that he never wished to be judged by the marks scripted inside those exam papers and slain such articulately.
The sunshine closes, the door throbs and the white silk rehearses and is ready, it was time to leave. The child- he never belonged to this cruel world, and now that the stars and the scent of the other side- they wait for him such eagerly, for his mind is like theirs, and beauty is in such seclusion after all. So to everyone who thinks that he is not worthy of creativity, know that you will do wonders one day- and everyone will line up for a decent photograph with you- know that.
-Yogesh Chandra