why i cannot write about books on world book day. (NaPoWriMo #23)

we humans have been blessed with the gift of precious words.

the science of creating language, emotions out of thin air
to suit our needs, and dominate a world that didn’t really need us to
the ability to hold quills, and make ink bleed of its own will
to breathe into characters – illegible until now – a fresh, raw meaning
the art of shuffling words until they vaguely make sense
to create magic like no other, like a puzzle with no wrong responses
the power to build tremors in vocal chords – cyclones if need be
to bring to life the words we create, the ones we hope rarely fail

we also have been blessed, with the gift of loving fiercely.

but what amazes me most about the things and the people that we love
is how inferior words suddenly seem when we want to talk about those.


why i cannot write about books on world book day.
Day 23 of NaPoWriMo.

I tried. I really tried. I spent hours trying to come up with the perfect style, hook, start and end to a poem I could write about books and how they’ve changed my life. I thought, and I wrote. I wrote, and I deleted. I stopped thinking, and that obliterated the process entirely. All I had to show for my efforts were several broken, unfinished drafts that I could not bring myself to finish. And I asked myself why today, of all days, was so tough. All boxes were checked – I had a clear topic, I could write from personal experience, and I had strong opinions about it – something I don’t think I could’ve said with confidence about each of my previous topics this month. So what lacked? I realized, that it was too close to home for me. I needed to take a step back in order to analyse it objectively, and I couldn’t do that. So I ended up writing off that observation. Here’s my piece on why I couldn’t write about world book day, on world book day.

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