Write to live, Live to write
Every year, as the old year draws to an end and the new year stands expectantly outside our door, just waiting to be let in, I get these uncontrollable pangs of excitement. I am as nervous as a dancer about to make her first public appearance and as giddy as a little kid going to Disneyland for the first time.
Some destinies are rewritten mid-stride. You were never meant to walk the path worn thin by others. Leave the dust, leave the shadows. Fly away, feet—remind your heart how to rise.
If you’re quick to judge, quicker to insert your own truth, You’re not listening. If you say, “I know exactly how you feel,” Then talk about yourself, You’re not listening.
Don’t keep me in your memories I’m not afraid to be forgotten. To be erased from Your thoughts Your heart Your life Your soul.
Dear Goddess Lakshmi, Do not come to our homes this Diwali. We have enough money to burn up in smoke even as our cities choke and suffocate. We wager our ill-gotten gains and surplus income on the serves of a card.
Today I needed a gentle hug, I needed to bask in some warm sunshine. Outside was dark and bleak and sad, So, I looked into this heart of mine. But it was just as dark in there, And cracked, and bruised and broken. But through it all I caught a glance, Of all the memories I had stored within.
In John Marrs' 'Keep it in the Family', the thrills are thrilling and the crimes are chilling. And, yet, it was a letdown. There's a special place in hell for books that accumulate every single hackneyed trope imaginable. This book made me very angry and I need to vent.
The day stands on the threshold of dusk. Pale pink is giving way to peach then orange. The chirping of birds falls away to create absolute silence. It feels like the world has been paused. The only sound I can hear is the gentle creak of my hammock as it swings from side to side: left-right, left-right, left-right …
The first hour after I've woken up is precious to me. I try and make the most of it. I don't talk, don't read the newspaper, and don't check social media. The only thing I do is sit in my balcony with a cup of coffee and stare away.
Nostalgia is a funny thing. There is no telling where you might suddenly bump into an old memory tucked away in some dark, less-frequented recesses of your brain or what might suddenly trigger off an almost dramatic flashback sequence.
Fireflies and Fairylights 