nowhere to go,
breading foul insects,
when the pen is denied from venting
stagnant words clutter the mind
— bad ink,
and a whole lot of bruises decorate the inside of the mind.
don’t stop creating because
you think that your creation isn’t good enough
it matters that you keep creating
let the ink flow
let the words create a ripple
but don’t deprive the ink its right to carve the story
don’t imprison the words
let the words explore,
make pathways to move around,
let it not be…
They always seem so…
Last night as I was taking my routine Facebook stroll, I happened to oversee this conversation that took place in my feed. Someone in my friend list posted their school photo and others commented “Those were the best days”, “If only we could relive those days”, etc.
Often when I hear this statement the question that pops into my mind is “Was it though?”. Because when I look back, I clearly remember the good parts as well as the difficult parts of those school days. Of course, I enjoyed the giggles, the fun with my friends…
The last piece of cupcake sat on the kitchen countertop, exactly where she left it.
Normally the last piece would be in high demand. She always kept the last piece for Joel. But when it was his turn to devour the piece, she always tried to take a bite out of it. Not that she craved for cupcakes, she loved eating out of Joel’s hand. Their love was palpable in those moments.
Like soaking a paper in ink palpable.
Their home was covered with such moments of love. Impossible to miss!
The last piece of cupcake stood there as a…
It’s a wonder that only a few weeks, maybe months ago I was writing, effortlessly. I was, wasn’t I? It wasn’t a far-fetched dream. A figment of my imagination.
After all, if you say so, I will believe that because becoming a writer was always been a dream of mine.
And I did write, I believe. They may not be the most captivating pieces ever. But I wrote. Daily I wrote. Some days I wrote many poems and stories. My pen never showed a sign of fatigue. My love for paper and pen never faded a bit. …
There is nothing called writer’s block. I convince my mind again.
But the moment I pick up the pen, a ruffle I hear of words scattering away. It’s not writer's block when words refuse to play along, is it?
I look out my window for the inspiration I couldn’t find in the many prompts I came across. All I see is a long road leading away from where I stand!
What are you waiting for? I ask myself. It’s not going to be easy. But you gotta start somewhere and you are standing at that somewhere! …
the way ahead was covered in darkness
I was certain I was lost
there was no light
no hand reached out to guide me
no quotes shined in my mind’s eye
nothing but plain darkness engulfed where I was rooted!
a little later, I saw shadows
it made me jump
the unexpected movement
but, if shadows appear there has to be light
a slight tinge of light, perhaps,
a tiny ray spilled from some distant source of light
without knowing that it was actually swaddling me in a blanket of hope,
this blanket of hope might appear so feeble,
but in a moment so fragile and…
the clatter in mind never subsides
though I wish to get rid of, it one by one
neither do I want to talk about the clutter my mind hoards all day long
it seeps in, everywhere
my sleep suffers in its wrath
across my mind,
all over my dreams,
spills the clutter
so does the clatter
i don’t wish to talk about the clutter in my mind
until I get rid of them one by one
but, what if the only way to get rid of them is by talking about them!
but then, what’s the point in thinking about…
my mind drags along
broken thoughts and memories
heavy this baggage
Sometimes I see the broken pieces of memories looking at me. Sometimes, I go looking for them. I can’t help but think that there is a corner in my mind where all those broken pieces reside. It’s okay as long as they stay there. But if and when they start to occupy the other spaces inside the mind, then sifting through them becomes a rather unpleasant experience.
For now, I prefer to tag this corner of my mind as poetry and type the brokenness in short and long lines…