On Friday night, I went for a movie, "The Grand Budapest Hotel", to be fairly honest it was drawn on a side of comedy which almost all should find hilarious despite the obvious dark nature of it sometimes. And as I sat there in the dark seating theater of the IMU trying to read the subtitle from time to time, I was moved by the central character of the story. The way he offers to tell a story and then couldn't decide if it was his story or it was the story of those whom who he is talking about. At the first glance it would be obvious that there is absolutely no difference between the two. After all how do you separate the story teller who is a part of the story from those who are more central to the story themselves. It is their version over his? is there a more true version to the story? or is it always challenged and interpreted alike in the minds of those who are telling it vs. those who are listening to it? I pondered for a bit about these questions, I know that was the last thing we need after a late night movie but the mind find strange things sitting in the crowd among the dark halls and filled up seats. And hence this longer narration to a poem about stories and "of stories"
Of Stories
Of stories many of us write, the ones that are bound but not only in story books,
That run around free, in the imagination of the mind,
That are often interpreted, read again and chances are that they are overlooked,
Among the places that are but found only in pages, and yet there are some which we fail to find
We write between the lines if you will, we write to the meaning to words that are bound,
We write to the night and days, and times you pick up the book to be read in your mind aloud
Among the fair, the unfair times the reasons you just read even if without a sound
We put on repeat that which fancies us, the poems the phrases and feelings that never drown
Of stories I write to , the unconventional ones, the ones we couldn't end on a happier note,
But then what were we to do? we were simply writing day by day, our only reasons was that we simply wrote
Do you question the motives of those who write? do they portray the world unlike yours and mine?
Do they see more beauty in the bright sunny day? do they find something calmer than the starry sky?
I yield to you, my question lies in vain, who are we to decide the fate of words on pages?
Are we are merely but those who interpret, like the music we listen to and yet something that never ages
Of the times we spend spellbound and about,
We are more than narrators in quotes we "quote", and in phrases we read out loud,
"Here's to the story tellers in all of us, to those who like to read and be a part of it often, as you listen to the book you live it, and as you learn you will always be a part of it all"
Of Stories
Of stories many of us write, the ones that are bound but not only in story books,
That run around free, in the imagination of the mind,
That are often interpreted, read again and chances are that they are overlooked,
Among the places that are but found only in pages, and yet there are some which we fail to find
We write between the lines if you will, we write to the meaning to words that are bound,
We write to the night and days, and times you pick up the book to be read in your mind aloud
Among the fair, the unfair times the reasons you just read even if without a sound
We put on repeat that which fancies us, the poems the phrases and feelings that never drown
Of stories I write to , the unconventional ones, the ones we couldn't end on a happier note,
But then what were we to do? we were simply writing day by day, our only reasons was that we simply wrote
Do you question the motives of those who write? do they portray the world unlike yours and mine?
Do they see more beauty in the bright sunny day? do they find something calmer than the starry sky?
I yield to you, my question lies in vain, who are we to decide the fate of words on pages?
Are we are merely but those who interpret, like the music we listen to and yet something that never ages
Of the times we spend spellbound and about,
We are more than narrators in quotes we "quote", and in phrases we read out loud,
"Here's to the story tellers in all of us, to those who like to read and be a part of it often, as you listen to the book you live it, and as you learn you will always be a part of it all"
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