There is a want...

There is a want for silence.
Not for the noiselessness. But just to scream.
It will not be one of pain. Nor one of anger.
Sometimes, it is just a want, indifferently.

There is a want for a mild breeze.
Not to avoid the mighty wind. But just to hear the brown leaves in an old tree rustle.
Just to see the hair strands exhibit courage and dangle over her face.
Sometimes, environmental motion helps the paralyzed mind march ahead.

There is a want for the evening.
Not to avoid the morning's expectations. Not to evade the night's weariness.
But an evening has its charm. It makes you hope for a little more before the end.
It shines upon you the last ray of hope before darkness descends.
Sometimes, it is just a want, indifferently.

There is a want for the guitar's strumming.
Not to avoid the melancholy of a violin. Nor the celebration of a drum.
But pulling the string tugs at the heart. Pulling the string creates tension.
Even the emptiness inside an acoustic guitar has a rhythm.
Even an unattached string will find its company.

There is a want for irreverence.

Why should there be a pattern? Why a meaning?
Life is not always a chain of events.
At times, it behaves like a cat with a ball of wool.

There is a want to type.
Not to write. Not to speak. But to type.
Writing requires a firm grip. Speaking requires a strong heart.
But for a trembling hand and a feeble heart, dust adorned keys in a keyboard suffice. 

As the cursor moves letter by letter, so does my life, second by second.