Travails of a Budding Poet – A Poetic Fiction.
Although, my bardish proclivities were then, overt, I had fallen hopelessly in love with the mild charms and witty vibes of poetry, even as a naive teenager. The creative chaos she sets loose in my head, were enough excuse to sail away from the banks of reality.
I have always regarded oral communication to be largely tedious and banal. My expressions tend to be more accurate, articulated, less awkward and less dramatic when they stream from my pen and not my Jaws. It always seems like I say the wrong things at the right time, or the right ones at the wrong time. I was never an orator. But my writing proclivities were promising to make up for that.
ALSO READ: TRAVAILS OF A BUDDING POET CHAPTER ONE
I knew I would struggle to make any significant impact on any society with my tattered oratory, and thus, wholeheartedly embraced the noble prospects of morphing the society’s reflection of itself, unraveling the hidden beauties of the universe hidden in plain sight, and bridging educational, social and nepotistic barriers of our world through positive and enlightening poetry.
These were the dreams i had been steadily nurturing, before the horse’s back on which they were about to ride got broken by the vicious comments of my first critic. In the flood of self-doubt and negativity his comments had sent my way, I drowned. I wallowed. I gave up and I Quit.
I drowned in the positivity of remembering that the criticisms were worthless opinions of a doubt caster, and that an impediment to action only calls for further action. I wallowed in the vibes that suggested obstacles to be the way to triumph. I gave up on doubting my spark, my creativity, my difference, my ability and my passion. I Quit writing for others and started to write for myself, I quit mongering for accolades and I Quit getting knocked off my pedestal by mine or other’s doubt.
I felt, albeit ironically, a deep sense of gratitude and debt in fact, to my first critic, for aligning my expectations with the correct perspectives of creative survival so early on my poetic journey.
To be Continued….
© Ahmad Abdulsamad, 2018| Prose| TABP2|