the starving novelist writes,
ink thinning like his sleepless nights~
a hunger that still ignites.
With fingers crossed, he rewrites his disjointed plot,
the struggling novelist who edits as he prays.
Each character he births is and is not~
half ink, half ghost, half-truth he can’t quite phrase.
He pulls a thread of meaning; shadows lean,
waiting to see which version he’ll allow.
They move as if the margins intervene,
as if unwritten grace could shape them now.
Yet in his hands, the draft begins to breathe~
a fragile faith disguised as narrative.
He knows the lies his metaphors bequeathe,
the hopes his careful sentences outlive.
Something stirs and answers in the stilled air,
as if it’s God who leans in to meet his prayer
I am a writer, a novelist, my book could be a best seller he says.
I nod my head, wanting to encourage my uncle, who rarely is this confident.
He looks up and asks me to spell two words. I do.
He seems pleased, boasts a bit more about his novel, then falls asleep.
He has been bragging about his novel for years, this is his first sentence.
I look at it when he puts his glasses down and begins to nod off.
It was a dark and stormy night, he has written.
Great start!
It was the best of times, the worst of times.
I hear him snoring. He is worn out.
Did he finally write something? My aunt asks. I nod.
It has taken him eighty years, she tells me.
I know this, but he has started now.
We will encourage his efforts.
Because we both love our aspiring novelist.
A man with dementia who has a dream.
I will write a best-selling novel he says.
Sounds wonderful I encourage him. Have you started it yet?
Not on a Tuesday.
What is it about?
I don't know yet.
Will it be fact or fiction?
He gives me a weird smile. Unsure at this time.
Do you plan to use reference books?
I don't know.
Will it be about people?
I doubt it. I don't like people.
Except writers. I really like writers.
We have had a similar conversation for over forty-years.
He has not started it yet.
"But it will be a best-selling novel when I do," he tells me.
?I was born a dreamer day and night
Pens and papers- my partners in crime
Touch not my accomplices or you will die
Solitude is my outer space
An inch of a letter is my piece
An inch of a word is my peace
Put me back to earth and you'll see me in distress
My work is not as factual as yours
You have done extraordinary work to expose men
Kali Shalwar is a pioneer in the field of literature
What a cultural masterpiece of Art & Romance
You have truly unclothed the nakedness of society
Please teach me moral and ethical values
Inspire me encourage me and update my software.
1.Azaad tabiyat umda soch aur sadgi
Tayri narazgi mein bhi rahi Amadgi.
2.Ye tang nazar log kya samjhain gay tayray haath ki likhai
Tun baray achay say Kar kay gaya hai masharay ki dhulai..
Note. Mufti Abdul Qawi often falls into the trap of women.
Terse language scored to the bone
with naught leftover,
truth suffusing every word
without a shred of platitude.
She faced her challenges with fortitude,
hope and loss a perfect blending,
straight to the heart she spoke her mind,
no careless gesture or equivocation.
Last Modified: October 06, 2015 at 04:45 pm
© bickerstaffe - all rights reserved
Author Notes
...for Carson McCullers, author of 'The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter.'
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