Tip of the iceberg - no more

To blog, or not to blog? 

A question I’ve asked myself dozens of times. To bare ones soul, in words. Once written not to be retracted. Forever a burning reminder, a memory to be shared with others of times gone. Thoughts, otherwise hidden, secrets untold, now shared. Bared for the world to see, to criticize, to dissect and analyze. The fire of a soul can be seen in ones writings. The true depth of compassion, reasoning, understanding and bullshit flow with the power of the pen ( or in this case the keyboard)

It’s a very intimate privacy that’s being violated, with every word typed. Yet the draw is undeniable. Writing is an art you see. I’ve always admired the beauty of eloquence. The mystical draw of exquisite English. Similes and metaphors used to perfection. (make no mistake, I don’t claim to be an English artist of any sorts) but the draw, the pull the power of the English language is undeniable.

To say what is felt. It is not an easy ask. To write it down, infinitely harder. Yet the thrills of reading an article. A passage o’ English crafted to represent your emotions thoughts and insights. It’s an enlightening experience.

But Then, there’s the age old stigma: Its weak for a man to write such. Poetry…emotions..we feel no such things. Appreciate not the beauty of a starry night. We are men! Hmmph, it takes a different sort of courage to write an article such as this. After all, its tantamount to admitting an appreciation of art. Which real ‘man’ can admit to a love of artistry? 

Here is my statement. I love art. I love efficiency, efficiency is a form of art (on close scrutiny). I don’t give a damn about correct punctuation, spelling errors, the foolishness that makes up the rest of English. If words flow, I consider it a thing of beauty. Write to me in a staccato mix of capital letters and numbers, and instinctively I have this urge to damage you. Shorthand all you want, just choose a style, and STICK TO IT!

There’s a beauty to words, an ugly beauty. Two headed…a beauty in every sarcastic remark. A beauty hidden in subtlety, a beauty in the random. A beauty, Abstract in nature. Dark. Resonating. A beauty in the ring of words (such as ring), and in every witty statement. In every pun. 

Our elders would have us believe that Gujurati is the beautiful language. I maintain, of the languages I know and understand. Eloquent English is by far the most hauntingly beautiful.

No-one’s talking Shakespearean here. The guy had a way with poems – credit where credits due- but his stories. Honestly, absolute rubbish. My perspective anyway. And the language, I cringe every time I hear a Shakespearean sentence. Makes for good emphasis though, a well placed ‘thee’ or ‘thou’.Words have that power, with the wrong inflection, a thing of beauty can be turned. Polluted. Convoluted. Never underestimate the power of words! (or inflection for that matter)

Seems I got sidetracked a bit, back to the point: It’s a painting, every blog post, a tapestry actually. Swirling thoughts, streams of random words, compiled to form an essay of sentences. Somewhat understandable. Almost tangible, but not quite making sense. I think I owe myself a tapestry. An object of future reminiscing. 

So, an end to my cascade of words.

Welcome to my mind...A first and Last.

Hamzah Motala :/