Under the influence of
different emotions, people tend to write different things. People react
differently to the emotions and on being asked to write something with duress to
their then state of mind, results in some interesting reads.
Yesterday I was sitting in The Chocolate Room after having met a friend. It had been a good day till then, and I was merrily sipping away my fruit drink with loads of ice in it when I thought of writing something. This is what I came up with:
Yesterday I was sitting in The Chocolate Room after having met a friend. It had been a good day till then, and I was merrily sipping away my fruit drink with loads of ice in it when I thought of writing something. This is what I came up with:
Laugh now but know that I shall sow the seeds of vengeance, spite and envy and wait. Patiently. I shall water them, nurture them and let them grow in to big large trees. And when they bear fruits, I shall set the whole thing on fire. I shall watch it burn, and with it burn every bit of this place to ash. When there is nothing else left to burn, I shall dance.
There, this is what I
come up with when I am all happy and merry. Frankly I quite like the way it
came out, I think of having a story in which the villain says this to a
supporting one before proceeding to kill him. This should drive the lead
character into an emotionally charged burst of actions. After I had posted this
on FB, a friend shared a poem I had not read before.
A poison tree (by William
Blake)
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
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wow!! That was quite passionate.
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And William Blake is one of my fave poets.
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