Tuesday, October 1, 2013

At the Cafe, Always!

Writing with a pen which leaves blotched ink patches on the other side of the paper like memory of human life fading away or coming alive as each word is penned down remembering the best days or the worst, judging each moment for its truth on a new paper, especially a paper which blotched ink by my pen, holds me back before each word, for I can't pause on memory and relive my life through, for it will blotch the future of the notebook and mine. 
To save all the pages and my days intact, to write more on memory, I need to write fast. In doing so my future would be clean, white as a new sheet ready  to blotch, bathe or capture a new world of imagination .

In a busy Cafe, one would love to sip hot coffee and think each word before sacrificing it to the notebook.
But for me, either the coffee will go bad or the notebook will be filled. How much can you really follow down the memory lane sitting in a busy cafe with cups and saucers clinking and people rambling about their misadventures? How much can you really pen down worth sacrificing for a decent piece of literature without the coffee going bad and that too an expensive one?

Does one come to a cafe for their love for coffee and the exotic varieties they serve or to have conversations or to elevate moods after each sip or just for some space that lets you be amongst random residents of a nearby colony trying to get off the busy routines by visiting the cafe? 
As for me I just want to write. As for the cafe, it just wants me to bill for the coffee.
As for the paper, I need to turn it…