The Spot Of Ink

When you write an exam and come back, its not the questions and answers that you remember. What you remember is the momentary pause, the glance you took at your neighbor’s face,the few seconds when you stopped writing and looked out of the window, when you heard the birds singing outside, and followed the rhythm of the creaking fan for a second, before you went back to writing..Life is like that.. The moments which we “live” in are actually the moments we don’t even know that we are living in.When you pause while running through the motions of life, you might not realize that, that’s when you are actually experiencing the phenomenon called life..Its not when you are writing. its actually when you pause and the ink spills, smearing your blank sheet of life, that you actually live.

The Spot Of Ink

The T’s tail hung loosely
The I’s eye looked blind
Smearing the insanity of the space
The spot of ink was left behind

Countless lines drawn,So much writ
And yet so much more to write,
A jungle of thoughts chime along
Like a thousand voices in the quiet

And yet its silent,empty,
I sink deep in ethereal waters
Gazing at the shining bubble of life,
As the impending tide no longer matters

Pause.
Life has stopped
I stop running and take a look around
The cheers and jeers echo in my senses
While I listen to silence’s sound

A moment stolen
From the vaults of time
It never appeared
But it was always mine.

Clutching it, before I started afresh,
I stopped to look, to wonder, to think
The lines, the words are washed away
All that remains, is the spot of ink.