Some things are just so real that you refuse to write them and let it be.
Words are great, and perhaps the greatest thing our kind has ever brought in existence, but reality is mightier. Words do not have the power to contain reality in its exact trueness. Because reality is too enormous to be possesed, too real.
When we set out to write about something, be it in forms of poetry or other creative writings, we use metaphors to state how something feels like, and metaphors lie far away from the real nature of that reality which we set to describe.
The more you make use of metaphors, the closer you move to poetry and the farther you move from reality.
No doubt we come up with exquisitely beautiful definitions in forms of poetry about the pain in our heart and the longing for our lover and everything that amuses us in nature but that simply isn’t reality. I don’t say that it needs to be, I just say that it isn’t.
What maybe drawn out of what I’m trying to say here is that: I am not devaluing poetry and words, I am rather stating the mightiness of reality that we often set out to describe in words.
The falling of a leaf in desolation under unguided force and waywardness is different from what we feel when our heart suddenly drops into some kind of congested abyss, but I surely can use the former as a metaphor for the latter – and, I must say, that’d be amazing. But that exactly which we had wished to describe will remain unwritten.
It is and it will be,