While the previous month saw me writing with great ardor and zeal, its only a couple of hours to the next now that I have made any post. The consistency of thoughts broken, the dearth of ideas clogging my brain and dust from feet filling my nostrils, I lie flat on my back, motionless, sweat breaking from my forehead to the pillows beneath, the writer in me choking on his own breath.
I could have lent my voice to a number of days gone by. I could have spoken about the deranged state of political affairs in the country, the turmoil and the wrestling matches of the upcoming Lok Sabha elections, the launch of Tata Nano, India winning its first Cricket Test Match in New Zealand in 33 years, coming of age of Indian horror movies in form of 13B, the Fritzl case, the killer flyover in Dwarka as the child of faulty civil engineering or much recent observation of the Earth Hour which saved about 1000 Megawatts of energy some 3 days ago or probably many more such things and events which now escape my memory.
Instead I chose to play deaf to the voice in my head, the voice which drives me crazy at times and persists me to keep writing and to keep going on. I for once, conceded to the pleasure of nonchalance to everything in the vicinity of my being and my conscience. The inactivity ebbing into me, the reflux coagulating the pulp in my head to stone, I have used the last four weeks doing nothing worthwhile with my human life.
And I say so in my full consciousness. The hiatus from life was undeserved for I served no meaningful purpose in stashing away my active soul. I simply dumped myself and relinquished whatever purposeful ligament I had in me to the mundane means of livelihood.
The hours went by and then the days and then the weeks and I have been here unmoving, lifeless. What I yearn for is still unknown. My thoughts flow out and retrace their path back to me. There exists no audience I desire to please, no listener I wish to pour myself out to. Life just goes on, time dwindles ahead and I gain another gray strand, another wrinkle, another loose muscle for no fault of mine yet something inside retains its youth and holds its questions, desires, hopes, dreams and all those things that I thought I had lost somewhere.
Its becoming a constant battle. I am living two lives or maybe its two people living inside me. I constantly find myself distinguishing the voice in my head to the person I see in the mirror. These are two different beings, two separate entities. Maybe this is how people theorize a man as mortal and the soul being immortal, I don't know.
All I know and realize is that this journey is getting tiresome and I long for some real answers. 
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