I know what I’m about to say is most cliché but it’s also true in every sense!
“The best things in life are free!”
Not that I’ve only realized it now but simply that I’m beginning to see it even more… things like trust and belief are all so unbuyable. Smiles can’t buy them. Money can’t. They’re just free! You either get them or not.
In the end, it just depends on how we live our lives. It depends on whether we permeate with light or we hover in darkness. If we stand for the right things without compromise then things like trust, respect, honor, belief, security and everything else just comes along.
I haven’t really updated my blog for a while because of various reasons. There’s never enough time and blah blah. But I just realized that’s all I ever do.- make excuses. So today I’m writing about time management. I’m no expert in this category so don’t expect too much. I’m just painting my picture of time management for a busy poet. (more…)
I believe there are two kinds of poems a poet can write- the first kind being the ones with some sort of deliberate message, be it didactic or not; while the second kind being the kind we never want to be questioned about. Well at least that is how it is with me. Of late, I find myself preferring to write more poems of the latter kind. These poems bear no meaning or message for me to explain but only that which is somewhat hidden in between the lines. I guess poems as in songs are just places where a person can vent out their true feelings of anger or sorrow or pain or joy. Well, a lot of times I write poems that do just that. I lay it all out. Maybe that is why I’d rather not explain. I’d rather not show myself to the world. Poems- certain kinds of poems- make their creators vulnerable. I think a lot of times we don’t want people to ask us why or what we meant. We dont’ want to be vulnerable. (more…)
Today I sat for what seemed like hours on end in a bookstore, leafing through Neruda, Saki, Marquez and a few other legends. The old books. The new books. The smell of the books and the wood. The feeling that comes along. Pure joy. Blissful. Passionate. I run out of words.
If you don’t know this, you don’t know life.
As a little girl, I loved to write, to put my thoughts on paper and to read it later to a much amused audience. They would ask me where I had come up with such ideas and thoughts. It was in moments such as those when I felt like I was on top of the world.
However, as the years passed by, so did my zeal and passion to write. It was almost like that bright flame was turning to embers. I still wrote, but that was only in private diaries and that too only to keep my sanity. But these diaries were not works of art that I could treasure; instead they were just a mere reflection of my own emotional roller coaster.
It was neither inability nor was it the shortage of things to write about that hindered me. But now, I know it was insecurity. The essays, poems and stories I had, I wrote onto the pages of my heart. Yet, I never had the courage to actually put them on paper. That which was etched deep within the layers of my worn out heart, remained there.
I am still young. Many have gone ahead of me, in age, maturity and wisdom. However, though I am but a child still, I have now made a decision. A decision I have prolonged for far too long. I have decided to read and share the journal of my heart. So much is written and so many layers I have to sort through, but I know I must put it in ink.
There are times when my imagination bewilders even myself and my dreams seem as far away as the stars. Yet when I read, they seem just a little bit closer. And that is what I want to do- to touch others as I myself have been touched. I am probably not a literary genius or another legend in the making, but the sky is still the limit. It is my time, my time to write and my time to pierce through the veins and into the hearts of those who will read with an open mind and an open soul.