An interruption, a break, a long pause
Due to uninspiring ombre of thoughts
Ideas after ideas but no right words
Enough gut up my loins, but not enough gird.

Guilt. It stings-“Why don’t you write?”
And then follows ridicule – “What will you anyway write?”
So body leaves the bed and fingers hover over keyboard,
Procrastination takes over – “Maybe do it later.”

To be or not to be – a writer – that’s the question;
Am I or am I not one – that is the real one!
Constant war between over and under – confidence is a bad thing, too much or too little.

Eventually though,
Procrastination leaves, so does ridicule;
guilt forsakes, dilemma dies;
And I realise –
Boredom is the key to break a hiatus!


Note from the author: I┬áhave been quite lazy and uninspired, but I figured if I had to be a real writer, then there’s only one thing I need to do the most – write.



I wish I could say, that she was the Day

Because of how pristine as a clear morning sky she seemed to be – always sorted, always satisfied with what she wanted to do.

I wish I could say, that she was the Day

Some of her, exuberant as the colorful butterflies fluttering around; and some, like the bright flowers that bloom at the first ray of light.

I wish I could say, that she was the Day

When she hummed a sweet tune, like birds making a happy song; Or when she got upset for a moment, as if the sun hid behind the moving clouds.

I wish I could say, that she was the Day

For she spread brightness around to everyone that she met.

I wish I could say, that she was the Day

Except, she wasn’t.

She was the dusky sky that held blazing scars within, “stars” she named them.

She was the dull storm, yet a monstrous thunder – part of her always prepared to destroy if harmed.

She wasn’t the butterflies, she was the Dragon.

And yet she was the stillness of the lake that shone with the reflection of the full moon.

She was the calm rustle of the leaves at twilight, the low hum of the trickling brooke.

She seemed to be for you and for me, and she was if need be.

But more than you and more than me, she was for herself.

wish I could say, that she was the Day; except, she wasn’t.

She was the (k)Night!