What is literature?

What is literature?

What is literature? Literature is this question itself! Literature has something to say, everything to say and yet nothing to say at all! 

Literature is a fire that burns the reader and the words of literature burn the mind of the reader, not between the body but inside and outside the soul but this fire is so flammable that as the fire grows, its inflammation decreases.  In addition, the reader tries to calm down by reading more and more, burning more and more.

Looking far distantly, literature is the word of a play, a novel, a story and a poem that does not directly or indirectly irrigate the masculinity of the society in which we are living.  Sometimes this literature is just talk.  In unspoken words and perhaps that is why, literature is not only what has been said but also the fire that is still burning inside.

 You may be thinking that here I am combining literature and fire to create a false flare which is not really necessary to that extent.  But friends, there is a need!  Why?

 Is literature happiness?  Is literature just a means of bringing out laughter and compassion?  But literature is the land on which I can stand and fall, where I can sleep with less need for other things.  In the realm of society in which I am bound to live and until I get out of it, literature will always be a constant buzz between the kitchen and the living room.  For me literature is the first and last step of my ladder to fly into this world by piercing the kitchen walls.  Apparently everyone has told me where the women have reached to the sky!  Now is not the time for women as before, all the concessions are given to them.  But my Brahmastra is for me to fight when the burden of responsibility is imposed arbitrarily or when it is automatically taken away in the name of responsibility, love, security and freedom itself, if it really exists and has power!  (As I have seen since childhood on TV, online and in movies which the religion used as the last weapon.  I have also been willing to use a projectile that I have only hated since the beginning of my life, but I think the pain or regret after using it will be less than this.

This literature has become for me a small mound of dust that is constantly being crushed by the shallow mentality of society.  Even though it is constantly down, constantly with and under constant influence, it doesn't say anything by walking in front like the curse of Sahadeva.  But this literature, though cursed by Sahadeva, is quite different.  You may think that I am really insane but I would be happy to share one thing with you all and tell you that I am really insane but I must say that this madness is not mad!.  This madness of mine is not madness.  This madness of mine I got from literature and this literature is the one in which I am ready for any moment of my life to get drenched and hit. For me, literature is, When the power to run flourished in me, the source of which is an inexhaustible source of inspiration for me.

When insanity doesn't seem insane, people will count it among the people who go beyond insanity yet have you ever thought that the power of thinking really flourishes only when thoughtlessness surrounds you and if you are really unaware of this then you don't really know what literature is.  Literature is the road where one can know nothing till the end of life, but all I can know is just words, and the ocean of meanings of all my words that have taken on a meaning of their own is true literature.

 Although there have been countless attempts over the years to understand, write, know and prove literature accurately, this literature is a sun whose light shines in a weary world but when one tries to approach it like light, it shines in its divine radiance.  Leaving because the brilliance of literature that is accustomed to living in the psyche of this society and which is not accustomed to watching without close observation and screen remains difficult and cumbersome for any ordinary reader.  Efforts have been and will continue to be made.  But with the change of time, the slope of which keeps changing, but the silence of motion, the inexhaustible flow of static dynamics, which stays in the same stream forever, is literature.

The question is what is this literature when it is tormented and when this question becomes unbearable to be endured from within the body the mind always runs to answer obviously and eventually stops in the form of "character and event".  This literature is life and life itself is an event.  Living is an event in itself.  Sometimes big, sometimes small.  But in the end, this literature is nothing but an event!

Thus dear friends,

Literature is the ocean you must test, must drink drops from yet can never reach to the last layer!

Thank you.