Anything but words

Image courtesy: Paulo Zerbato -https://fineartamerica.com/featured/self-expression-paulo-zerbato.html

There are many times when I deeply regret that the best way for me to express myself is through words. They are the most gross and inadequate. I wish that I was a painter, who can color her thoughts and paint her feelings. The canvas nothing but an extension of my soul. A mirror that reflects that which is within me, now bright, now dark. Sometimes brilliant, sometimes full of shadows. Vibrant and sedate, pious and petty -an amalgamation of lines, colors and textures that talks directly through the mirror of another pair of eyes and reflects in their own soul. No interference from the mind or the brain. No processing of the clumsy letters and chunky words. No need of sentences and paragraphs, tiring the reader and boring their brains.  

Sometimes, I wish I am a composer, where the notes are sufficient to convey the mood. A musician, where I can create magic from plain wind, tuning the vibrations around me to match the vibrations of my heart. A singer where my vocal chords act like a rope tied to a bucket, that is used for drawing water from a well. Each sound coming out of my mouth drawn deep from the well of my soul and splashed out for all to hear. Completely in rhythm with the vibration of the universe that I can feel every time I fold within my self. How can I bring them to words? They are beyond any mundane description or rhetoric or simile or metaphor.

Sometimes, I wish I could dance, my body flowing like a river or bending like a willow. Swaying and twirling, now moving fast and now moving slow, in tune with the ever changing emotions. My limbs etching a wordless poem. Expressing all the grace, all the love, all the fears. Now an angel, now a demon, often times, just a mix of two as a human. No need to wade in a pool of alphabets, no need to swim through my head and blunder into my heart. Groping my way through the dark tunnel of my heart with the feeble pin light of words. Not illuminating the whole being, but only a miniscule part of it -disjoined, incomplete and crass.

The moment I open my mouth, the emotion is lost. The moment I attempt to type, the beauty walks away. The moment I try to pin the butterfly of my heart with pointed words, it dies. But alas, it is my only hope. It is my only light. It is my only way out of this whole mess. It is the only way I know to show my love.