Ashok Silwal

When they asked him:
‘What is your work ?
Are you a writer?’,
With self-irony he used to reply:
‘Writing is a passion, not a job’
And he added:
‘In this time, I feel I am
A no-writing writer …’

Too many events have shattered him,
They unsettled his life,
For good and for bad,
Births and deaths,
Strong experiences that branded his heart
And’silenced’ him.
He was no longer able
To transform his emotions into words,
To translate them into the language of writing;
He felt no longer desire
To offer them to those who would read them.
Words seemed futile to him.
He couldn’t find the special expressions.

He knew that writing
Is this combination of technique and inspiration,
That this marriage needs silence, solitude,
A kind of seclusion, time …
Without it, it was impossible
To meet creativity, inventiveness,
Enthusiasm, inspiration …
The right moment would come …
But now, he was sad about his state,
It hurt him: nostalgia for the time
When the stories flowed
And the fingers danced on the keyboard
Until late at night.
He understood that his mind
Could not follow his heart.
But … his emotions did not stop;
A deep and confusing tangle inside,
And so … he felt he was a writer
Like a river in the dry season:
The water gurgled under the ground
But it did not flow,
Like a butterfly from which some cruel fate
Has torn its wings,
Like a flower without petals …

Maybe it was time to read now,
To feed;
He knew that writing is reading
Turned inside out.
Breathing in and breathing out.

So the still no-writing writer
Was very confident and hopeful,
Because he was assiduous and attentive
Deep reading reader …

He would meet his Muse again
And write passionately,

(नमस्कार ! एउटा कुरा भनौं है, तपाईं पनि लेख्नु न । जीवन र जीवनसँग सम्बन्धित कुनै पनि कुरा लेख्नु । नेपालनाम्चा तपाईंको मिडिया साथी त हो । र, यसको इमेल हो । यही इमेलमा आफ्नो परिचय, फोटोसहित आफ्ना मनका अनेक कुरा, सबै कुरा पठाउनुहोला ।)

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