Remains...

She needed no words -
The world read it in her eyes,
And he... heard it in her silence.
Between each breath waited a little love song
With tiny wings, ready for flight.
The milkyway smiled down
Upon the conversation of twinkling eyes
And fragrant familiarity.

And when the last twinkles were spoken,
And the last fragrance surrendered,
The world glimpsed it in her eyes,
And she... felt it in his silence.
He veiled it, she nurtured it;
They brought forth pain.
Blended with a larger potion of truth,
They consumed the bitter antidote for love
And waited...

To be consumed by the bitterness...they waited!
To cheer love's death...they waited!
Reluctantly...they waited!
But...the lees of love remained.

A writer… am I?

Almost 7 years in writing… non-fictional writing, commercial writing, and even technical writing. What has it done to the writer in me?

• The muse has forsaken me and my creativity has almost dried up.


• Where writing was the thing to do whenever I had time, now I have to make New Year resolutions (which are mostly made to be broken) for indulging in creative writing more often.


• Writing has become more about “Will the readers like it?” and less about “This is what I’ve been thinking.”


• Even on platforms as informal as a blog or a tweet, I find it difficult to abandon the stiff-necked capitalization, punctuation and formal tone. I have even stuck to standards in using a bulleted list for this post and not a numbered one!


• And, I feel compelled to write a conclusion and make this post sound complete. But just for the sake of defiance, I will not conclude…
  

P.S.: I have typed this out in MS Word, I’m now reviewing it, and I’m even contemplating on getting a second opinion, before I post it on my blog!

My Hi-Five this 2012

They say New Year’s resolutions are meant to be broken. I agree. Yet… what the heck! Let me just go ahead and make a few resolutions this New Year. Even if I stick to them for a day, I will have gained. So, here are my hi-five for 2012:

1. Focus on Fitness: No, I don’t mean slimming down. All I mean is staying fit. At the end of a hectic day of work, when I have an offer to party, I should be able to say, “Bring it on!” And, if good shape and skateboard abs come with the package, why not? Who knows, I might just reward myself with a pierced belly button ;)

2. Pledge against procrastination: “Later…” has been my pet word for years now. This New Year I want to be good to myself and spare myself of the eleventh hour rush and anxiety. I can already hear numerous You kidding mes. Well, ‘Pledge against procrastination’ may sound too strong but I can definitely try (with a weak smile).

3. Write a lot: And not just at work. Being a technical writer, does not really leave me with much option to do otherwise. But I need to write more beyond work. My poorly-maintained blog and a few stray scraps do not say much about my passion for writing. So, oh keyboard get ready to be beaten and oh 2012 get ready to be blogged!

4. Read more: Gooey romances such as Mills & Boons don’t count. I need to do some worthwhile reading. Since I love reading, this should not require too much effort. But finding time is the key!

5. Learn 1 foreign language, 1 dance form and 1 musical instrument: This sounds like more than one resolution. But I guess it’s manageable. I do not need to be an expert but I should be able to complete the basic level for each of these. I’m already learning German, will soon start learning Jive and I know my Do Re Mi on the guitar. Looks like I’m all set to achieve this one.

I just realized that this can be my first blog entry for 2012, and that goes a long way in saying that I’m serious about resolution #3. But hey I’m serious about the others too. OMG! If I stick to my resolutions this year, I will be almost perfect! So, folks wish me luck.

The Lasts...

The last time we embraced... I didn't want to let you go.
The last time we kissed... I didn't want to let go.
The last time we met... I didn't want to go.
The last... I didn't want...

Impressions...

The streetlights, the headlights, a pothole full of rain…
She looks on; she looks through a misty window pane.
She moves on, yet not so. Her body carries on…
She waits there, she stands still, her soul cannot go on.

His eyes that speak, his fragrant breath, his racing heart does stay,
If fate lines meet when fingers entwine, can destinies go astray?

She has seen him go, knows he’s gone, watched him walk away.
Mere impressions yet so real; she feels his presence every day.
For one last time she yearns to hear him call her name…
…not the last time she wonders, ‘Does he feel the same?’

Creative juices seasoned with Terror

I opened the window for a dose of the cool evening draft. Strains of soft music filled my ears. I smiled contentedly. Perfect setting for the perfect little poem! I concentrated on the white paper and the black lines that crossed it evenly. They always seem to have a mild intoxicating effect. The creative juices were flowing.

Bang! Before I could emerge from my state of physical inactivity and regain my active agility, it happened again. Another bang! I ran to the balcony fearfully expecting to catch glimpse of a couple of coolly clad lads clutching onto some intimidating machines and threatening a crouching mass of innocent and fear-wrought victims. The bangs repeated irregularly but incessantly.

A proper scrutiny revealed a carpenter’s shop at the end of the road with the poor old carpenter hammering away joyfully at his fabrication. I retraced my footsteps in a quick desperate attempt to recapture the moment of creativity and penned down a couple of words in red… words that had been forced to make quick exits by the ‘poor old carpenter’, a few minutes back.

As a part of some universal conspiracy, my traitor pen refused to form alphabets, or for that matter refused to leave any mark on the ‘white paper and the black lines that crossed it evenly’. Unwilling to succumb to such plots, I jerked the conspiring red pen in a violent sweeping movement. The white paper turned nearly-red with big blots of red ink all over. The sight had done its mischief. I made a futile effort to wipe away the blots but all it did was to paint my hands red.

A sense of nausea made me rush to the basin and here I faced myself in the mirror. I saw someone I didn’t quite know. Was this the face of Terror? But, again, did Terror know tears of remorse that I saw in the eyes of the person in the mirror?

The last two weeks post 26/11 had left an indelible mark on my mind. Terror had diseased my mental faculties and was taking a toll on my sensibilities. Terror had struck at a geographical location more than two thousand kilometers away and here I was sitting in my room, feeling guilty for being safe, feeling responsible for innocent deaths, sensing the lurking presence of death somewhere near.

I have not lighted a candle nor have I mourned in black. I have, however, uttered a silent prayer for the ones who lost their lives, for the ones who survived and for all of us so that we never know what it is to die a terrorized death. Now, as I sit scribbling this feverishly, I realize what it is to be served a chalice of creative juices seasoned with Terror.

N.B.: This was written in December 2008. It is being posted now as a homage to all those who lost something on 26/11, a date that changed more than just history.

Thinking in black and white

Sitting at my workstation, with the earphones securely plugged into my ears and my feet precariously resting atop the edges of a very green dustbin, I feel like writing something worthwhile but I seem to be suffering from a writer’s block. The melody filling my ears travel fast to someplace deep within and I suddenly think, “Vow! I have quite a collection!” Soothes my nerves – something I’ve desperately needed to do recently. Life has been having sudden migraine attacks these days and has been telling me irately to take a hike. Well…she surely seems to know how to put me into one of those nasty moods, the brunt of which is patiently borne by one poor soul.

Track change…one of the few fast numbers that grace my collection. A slight change of weather, though not really a welcome one at the moment. Fortunately, the track abruptly stops midway and makes place for another soothing one.

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time wondering which way my life is steering and whether there is another route I would like to steer it towards. The inference? It has been smartly eluding me but I still hope to be able to catch up soon.

Forgive me if I sound morose…not something I intended. True to the track playing right now, I realize how I asked my heart to bring back strains of bliss but in a moment of naivety it brought back a generous helping of heartaches. Without looking a gift horse in the mouth, I accepted them gracefully. They say 'The longest journey a man must take is the eighteen inches from his head to his heart'. Perhaps for a woman, the journey is really short for she takes it so fast, and faces the consequence.

Time to take a break folks!!

I just realized the ‘very green’ dustbin is not green at all. It’s been replaced by a light peach one. And yes, I’m back after a pretty long break. It would certainly sound too melodramatic if I say that I miss my old green dustbin but I do miss it. Well, that’s the problem with me…can’t accept change, however small it may be.

If you have been anticipating the revelation of the ‘one poor soul’ who tolerates all those mood swings, I’m sorry to dishearten you dear reader. I am not about to divulge any secret pertaining to the ‘poor soul’, except perhaps the fact that when I was sure that the sky was overcast, he assured me that I was standing under a small dark cloud and all I needed to do, to see the blue sky once again, was to step back and look up.

I am quite lost in the thoughts of that ‘poor soul’ and do not wish to allow Skribblet announce my innermost thoughts. So here I lay my pen down…

I apologize if my scribbling appears to be a patchwork of disjointed thoughts…that is what it was meant to be. My thought has been prancing about like a frenzied little colt and I’ve tried to pull it into a warm embrace. So, here’s presenting my irregular mental designs in black and white…