The Forced Reflections

Some of the reading are laborious indeed! The words are extremely ornamental, crafted by someone else, but awkwardly set in a design that diminish their glorious reflections. It is life going out to fetch some fancy pieces to enthral the reader with some borrowed vanity. First, the eyes feel tired, trying to extract some meaning from them; by then the mind shuts off, and the exaggerated ornamental piece loses its elegance.

It is also a truth that simplicity of words and languages are not efficiently crafted. There is an impression that every simple word enhances storytelling, but working with such simplicity, and yet, creating a prosperous environment for literature is a valiant effort. Not only the pen and ink, there is the unselfish surrender to the imaginations, unsullied by the preposterous influences.

What do you naturally reflect on? Does your thoughts have a distinct echo of their own? The more you try to dilute your style of thought process by abruptly entering the hallowed world of literature and pick up many literary styles, you tend to create a confusing narrative. A curious mind, unprepared to comprehend the brilliance of literary treasures is dazzled into submission. Coming out of that euphoric state is impossible, and the ensuing work will be burdened by those unexplained sorcery of words. They float around the eyes like disturbing flashes; like an unkind distraction. There is an urge to wrench the unnecessary distractions, to move away from them, because time is precious.

Sooner the forgotten pieces will be kept away from the glare of the readers; somewhere, they can embellish the cabinets filled with darkness. Arrays of words, with fabricated stories which were not bold enough to reflect their original craft and failed to create a priceless impression on the readers.


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