It has been long ago that I have written something. I don’t know if someone has been watching out for any post of mine. If someone does, thanks a lot and I hope to be able to update regularly.
I’ve been thinking a lot on what I should write. When I started the blog, I thought that I had much to share with the world. The world which is a more scarier place now.
Crimes, calamities and differences plague most parts of our planet of residence. And here I am wondering where all of this is leading us to. The child inside opines to see all of this just as a part of the story, although what it plans to see ahead is pure fantasy.
Sometimes I get that writer’s block. But the determination to write something feels lost long ago. There is a sea of content within; there is also great confusion, as to how the content can be put into words, careful as to not offend anyone. When I see people writing, I am in awe. Their ability to shape their thoughts into beautiful sentences are remarkable. Be it poems, or just random scribbles, they have their own value.
Now, until I get a good subject to comment on, I suppose it would be great to interact with the bloggers out here. Atleast, I might make a friend.
So what do you love to write about?
And what inspires you?
Like the day makes way for the night,
the way the seasons seamlessly transition into the next,
Like hate transforming into love,
midnight is among the best moments of life,
when most of the ideas flash into my mind.
Halfway between sleep and wakefulness,
the womb of thought at its fertile best.
Whilst I lie waiting for sleep to strike,
the mind comes up with its greatest creations.
Maybe this is my blessing,
To know how dreams are made up.
P.S. : This is probably my first poem. Suggestions and comments welcome.
Stemming deep from within, a desire to know what you are. Trapped within a soul, who am I?
People seem fake. Excelling at their assigned roles. Why does it all seem like a play all of a sudden?
The achievements, moments of bliss all seem to have withered away. Just like vapor on a cold windshield. When all the praises showered upon feel like flattery, none of them real.
When you look back and realize what you have achieved, only to see there is nothing. What have you been doing all these years?
Depressed? No. High? No. Then what makes you all philosophical all of a sudden? The voices around rise in chorus. The society maybe. Or my conscience.
The blog is probably dead, so are ideas. What about me? I live. Merely exist, to be precise.
Questions, questions. Wait, isn’t that what makes us different? Life. No matter how much you run away from her, she always finds a way to enchant you again. Interesting.
Wake up! You have another birth anniversary coming. Live every moment. Leave a mark. A good one. Before the next one comes up.
Happy Birthday you idiot!
He was running out of time. Holding onto her he ran as fast as he could.
‘What if all of this is unreal?’, she asked, her face quite disturbed. ‘No, this has to be real. This thing has the power to change our lives’, he mumbled trembling, the answer hardly satisfying her curious mind.
He looked back to reassure her when he saw her face undergo metamorphosis.
Her face was terrifying. Her pretty doe eyes now looked fierce reflecting anger. Her face had developed odd looking bumps, somewhat like a dozen big pimples and the skin had turned a dull shade of dark green, sharp canines poking out of her mouth. He slowed down but she kept her pace crashing into the wall ahead, turning into a cloud of smoke, quick to disappear.
He screeched into a stop, almost losing his balance. He stood there, confused . Beads of sweat began to flow down his face while he tried to make sense of everything that happened in the past hour.
Cupid hit us both with the same arrow; he split it.
Her father used two bullets.
Their eyes met for the first time, and their eyes glistened upon the sight of each other.
Her eyes, filled with love.
His, with lust.
True love, they said it was.
‘Divide this equally among yourselves, don’t keep it all to yourself’, said Grandpa as he handed out a 100 rupee note to his cute little granddaughter.
‘Grandpa asked me to give you this’, mumbled the 2 year old, with an innocent giggle, holding out the right half of the torn note, keeping the left half to herself.