No one is born with a pen in their hands, but a few are born with ink flowing through their veins.
This is the way that I believe writing became part of my being. So, could I really proclaim to know when I found writing or was it rather the fact that even before I could contemplate what the meaning of a mere word was; that the ink of heart, already splashed its tell-tale signs on my soul?
I’ve been writing since I was a toddler (given the fact that I could read and write before the age of four, this was not an unimaginable feat). Alas, not prose and eloquent tales of ecstasy, but rather rhythm and rhyme, a smile for a dime.
When I was younger, my influence came from whatever my senses dictated to me. What I saw, heard, smelled, tasted and felt. As I grew older, it deepened and suddenly it became about what I felt, that stirring of emotion…whether good or bad. What reached my soul, was penned on paper (or qwerty-style nonetheless). Inspired by a muse, which in my case, is my beautiful wife whom I adore with all my heart and soul. She has been the inspiration of many a love-adorned prose of poetry laced with longing (sheepish grin)
Writing is a river that flows underneath the brim of your soul and will linger there until it finds its nook, the tiny hole that will spout forth the fountain, releasing itself into a brook. This brook grew within me, growing wider and deeper at times and at others, stood still and dammed up until something was released within and then….words would flow in eloquent poetry like a cascading waterfall.
Letters would form in my head and transpire into prose or poetry at a whim – but alas, as life goes, some words would just get lost into the sweet oblivion of unspoken space and time.
Love, life, happiness and sorrow are the foundations of many a melody, canvas or book. Whether by note, ink or paint – the need to engrave my heart, so to speak, is part of my being.
It is only in the last couple of years that these inkings were made public by means of technology. What transpired through my poetry and such; is my growth as a person, a man and an artist.
If you dare to let yourself stagnate in a bend in your river of life, your words will grow stale and will leave no room for growth or exploration into greater depths.