Writing is a sacred art of catharsis, a refuge from the mind’s insanity.  Whether enamoured with life or grappling with the soul, paper is the most patient listener of all.  The days, when melancholy settles in the air like the weather, the hard-bound diary knows its worth.  The dark woods, the tempest, and the sorrowful glee linger in the pages.  Seasons, where the flowers bloom, at times to the point of suffocation, again writing becomes an abode of sanity.

 The writing captures moments, even the subtle ones, which will be otherwise forgotten. The how sky was pink at 4:30 am and the heart fluttered with it. That one special summer, when you were just fifteen and carefree, days seemed to frolic with the scent of seas. Or the poetic and dreamy monsoon when the raindrops carried countless memories. Writing about the once in life encounters, that changed you, Collecting the fragments of yourself in other people and the places where you discovered the hidden facets of yourself harbour the essence of a writer's journey. In retrospect, writing helps us to relive the moments again.

Since time immemorial, writing has been the primary means of expressing ideas, findings, and emotions to the world. From the carvings on the ancient caves, clay tablets, and the Dead Sea Scrolls to letters and books, writing has been a nexus between people. We write letters to loved ones, treasure them as souvenirs, and admire how our names look beautiful in others' handwriting. The books we read, irrespective of the genre, are the voices of people who want the world to change for the better. And we, as readers, find solace in their words that our longings are universal.

And so, when there is a lump in the throat or spring in the soul. There I go, reminding myself that, although I live in poetry that can't be written, it needs to be written.