Giving Birth

I was not professionally trained as a writer. But writing assignments have never escaped me since I can remember. I said "assignments" because they were either given to me in exchange for bread and butter or "forced" on me in exchange for a psychic income. Either way, it is beneficial to both my body and soul no doubt about it. But no matter how tremendous and incalculable the good that producing an article offers me, it is never without pain. Coming out with appropriate words, much less arranging them to form a sensible idea and not to appear like something that is cut out from a lunatic 's perspective, to me, is intense labor. It feels like the cells of my body are trapped in a dark cave of nowhere, searching for a tiny spark and gasping for fresh air. I need to come out from the pit of silent cry. I need to be transported to a special place where the rampaging and crisscrossing of thoughts are finally given expression and meaning; where the squalls are finally heard. If this is not a virtual preview of what giving birth to screaming babies is, then what is.