i am smelling secrets

not that you need to know
but would you like to know a secret?

it’s the curiosity of the unknown that
betrays your smile,

…ha ha…

it’s funny, no?

it was a morning, a dusk at dawn
when he walked alone on the sky
leaving a trail of forlorn vapors,

I knew that it was him, with his
usual tardiness, with ill begotten
terms of endearment, and sly words
whispered beneath the cloak of
midnight.

it was an evening, an enraptured death,
there was the usual sweat in the wind,
and I was walking down the memory lane,
when the wrinkled leaves swept by us,

“Why would you do this to yourself?” he asked,
and I said, “Why… that’s a secret”.

secrets are the aesthetic of our society wherein
the secret lies in the fact that secrets are not kept.

it’s funny, no?

not that you need to know,
would you, would you like to keep a secret
and hold it to your bosom, hide it in the folds
of your desires, because what else would you
hold so dear?

and would you promise to keep it,
by smearing your blood on my lips,
by flipping a coin, by caressing
the calluses on my feet?

there are skeletons in the closet
with a perplexed smile, mold has
taken hold of them and lies grow
instead of skin in its pale sheen.

it’s funny, no?

.
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For Poets United Midweek Motif

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endings

“okay then, goodbye”:

stories have a tendency to end in the
most

cliched manner, as if they just can’t find some-
thinkg different, perhaps a hello at the end,

a promise of something that begins and goes
on still, but endings are supposed to be sad
all the time, many a time. Perhaps all I need

to do
is
to
never
let
stories
end,

and that’d give to me my choice of an ending
or no ending, a discrepancy of sorts in the end.

.

This is Poem # 9 for my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge.

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A Breath

a breath bleakly escapes to have its say,

whispering stories of the diminished day,

of words, verbs soaked in lambent lights,

now snoring like sultry soldiers of night

.

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Day 14: Favorite author from your childhood

Well, I was exposed to books quite late. I enjoyed reading even when I was little but I was too innocent to ask my parents to buy me books. I had only a book or two in my book shelf. Yes, I was quite shy. I am an introvert and have been like that since forever. Therefore, I used to spend time reading short stories from my language textbooks at school. I still recall many of them because I had read them quite a few number of times.

Of course, I can’t recount my favorite authors because I hadn’t any. That time the image I had of an author was obscured by the heavy books of biology, physics and chemistry, my sister used to study. Rather I will discuss the few stories I enjoyed then which were not based on the curriculum.

Panchatantra Tales by Vishnu Sharma were quite an enjoyable read. I had (still have) a kid’s book with certain stories of Panchatantra like that of the crocodile and the monkey and of the greedy milkman, etc. I liked reading them because of the simple language and a moral at the end of every story.

The Monkey and the Crocodile

Also, I spent a lot of time reading religious books that belonged to my mother. I liked and still like reading mythological tales. I was always amazed by the prayer of the devotees and the power of the gods and goddesses. It is quite an irony because I am an agnostic and sometimes an atheist.

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Furthermore, I used to read every single page of a kid’s magazine that used to come  along with the newspaper every Friday.

I know this post is getting really boring for you to read. I will finish by writing that it is never too late to start reading. The books mean a lot to me. I like them. I live in their stories.

I am not reading much right now. But I know I just need to get into the flow of it once again which I would eventually.

Writing just for the sake of Writing

Writing just for the sake of writing… is it wrong?

Well I’m in a writing dilemma today. I was irritated throughout the day that I have got various unfinished manuscripts lying like some junk docs in my laptop. It truly hurts- what began as a tremendous idea in your eyes becoming some useless junk. Whenever an idea for a book- fic/non-fic strikes my mind, I just can’t think about anything else and start thinking about it throughout- how the story will go on reaching to its final conclusion.

Well, that is how it was when I started writing for the sake of writing a novel(the topic was related with teenage… eh! weird! boring!?)- I was on with a very good start. I had divided my chapters into various different parts of the story. I was new into such a thing- hence, I was very much trying to make it controversial(lol). The story was pacing ahead nicely but all of a sudden, I stopped writing completely and now, today that story is lying futile and I’m angry.

Then, when another idea struck me- I just started writing without visualising the whole story at once. I was of perception that as I move ahead, the story would come to me. Hence, I kept on writing believing that the story will go on with new random thoughts seeping into my mind throughout the time when I was writing. But unfortunately I was proven wrong. Another story- junk in my pen drive(not laptop.. should I be happy?) I think that time too, I was writing just for the sake of writing, that is why, it didn’t come out to be brilliant- well, how could it be brilliant when I never cared to write it complete. The idea was superb but it was becoming quite cheesy. It doesn’t matter now anyhow.

Whoop, again the same thing happened- this time I was trying my hand on writing about a story of a spiritual path of a young man when he gets weird dreams every night related with some religion or the other. It was indeed based on deliberately understanding every major religion. The idea flopped and this time because of my sheer stupidity… Don’t ask me! But the final reason was- I was writing just for the sake of writing.

Another time, I start writing- I wrote half a page- done with it. Today, I start to write- three ideas- two lines each- done with them. Again because of my habit of writing just for the sake of writing.

Why is this happening to me? I take a lot of stress while I plan on writing something formal… more sophisticated and hence, I begin to write even when I’m not ready, why, just because of the sake of writing, because I love writing(well love for writing doesn’t mean I have to write all the time or I must take stress while writing).

Well dear writers out there, enlighten me on what should I do? And please do share your experiences if you have ever come across a situation such as mine!