Soulwriter, today, after further conversation, my buildings were filled with flying birds and colors transparently traversing me in all directions, as I walked hurriedly at end of day. I used to be somewhere before, leaning against a wall of certainty. The moment you came, inspiration,

all those orbitals within my atoms shifted to new levels, rearranging all molecular happenings and processes and mementos. It was confusing, dizzying, as all the books ingested, and the combined wisdom of astrologers, astronomers, scientists and philosophers and oh so many others with catalogued thinking, fluttered in my brain like butterflies in their last flights of nectar, and collapsed in such a mélange, all definitions and assertions melted.

I was suddenly alone, without cover of dogma and belief, removed from my cherished logic, all those solemn collections of others’ thinking, revered by intellectuals and new age pundits, lied there in the ground, like road kill in the inner realms of my mind. Even the most subtle aspirations, had been sliced by the crumbling structures of erected scaffoldings that left no trace of edifice, just that vacuum familiar and that sense that something was still alive, even in absence of those word arrangements that had fascinated my mind.

Soulwriter, you pierced my body-temple with your arrows of uncertainty and vision, the pain inflicted was terrible, yet welcomed delight, like the desert that knows not of its aridity until the rains fall once in a long decade. Words started to vaporize out of the carcasses of all those dead thoughts of others, lying in my open brain, and they looked for each other, combining in all possible images, as I walked the streets of the city, my eyes vacantly fixed in horizons unseen, associating all the forms that met the eye in creative continuities of being.

Soulwriter, I am only a man with a collapsed scaffolding, waiting for these words to kiss each other in flight, and coalesce in verses, to offer them to you, as sacrifice for this ineffable vision that you etched in my brain. It is so intense, I tremble all over, it is ecstasy and nightmare combined, I stare like a zombie and walk over pavements of nothing, while seeing other eyes pass by with so much purpose in knowing. I just wait, for the waves of my soulwriter, to splash in rabid foam against the shores of my collapsed buildings of self, now vacated and empty.

Soulwriter, inundate me with the light of this ocean flight, invite me to swim and drown, there is nothing left here but sleep walking in sleeplessness, as we wait for dawn. What anguish so sweet is this, now I am again transforming into unknowns, aware only of the faith of the destination, unattached to concept and form, bound by this pull of intuition towards depthless black holes that promise redemption, passion, and song.

Soulwriter, today, with the body-mind-soul hurricane awakened by your sudden apparition, I crawl into that inner space you carved painstakingly in my innermost heart, in spite of my self, that quietude sublime, and just take your hand and in silence stay by your side. I breathe and inspire deep, and lay my head in your white bosom and sleep, and dream of soulwriters with hurricane fingers stirring my being, opening it like a wound, and then pouring the rains, the long awaited healing rains.

Soulwriter write my soul.