So, the other day I bought a journal. It’s a Pierre Cardin one, with a green leather-like material on its cover. The decision to buy was impulsive, with no rational thought whatsoever. It cost me approximately 400 rupees.
Now if you are anything like my friends, you will ask me the same question they did, “Dude, you spent 20 times more money on a notebook because it looked pretty on the outside and had a fancy name engraved on it?”
Normally, I would retort that it’s called a “journal” and not a “notebook,” you simpleton! But I won’t, because I would be lying. Beneath the veneer of sophistication, lies regular old paper with regular old lines. So who are we kidding? It’s a notebook as in notebooks usually are in general terms of speaking. Then the question arose: what do I do with this thing so as to make it seem like a worthwhile investment to my friends.
*Ting* Write nonsensically abstract poems, of course. Of course. I will then say this is where I keep my art. No one questions art. They will think, “Oh, I don’t have a clue what he is talking about, but I’m sure it’s something that transcends my levels of comprehension. And it’s great that he keeps something so beautiful to record his creativity.”
With that crooked thought in mind, I made the first entry into my “journal.” Here you go:
Do not leave me marooned
Out on this lonely isle.
No one to tend my earthly wound
No one to share my painful smile
A place it is for fulfilled lives
A place it is for happy souls
But the essence on which my being survives
Cannot be nurtured by its worldly goals
Can’t you take me there, where
Time stops and prayers pass?
Past the need for things to repair
Past lands beyond the Looking Glass
Where neither hope nor despair live
Where tranquillity and peace lie
For I cannot find the will to forgive
That which made you immortal,
and left me to die.
And just so you know how regular the paper looks, here is a click: