Writers are Paranoid

writers

Pre-Script:

We, writers, may be well known and respected for portraying our thoughts in words but there are few secrets that every writer keeps to himself. Now, I may be exaggerating but these are my worst fears and to be honest each of it is a byproduct of paranoia.

Writers are Paranoid

From the moment we pick up our pens,
till we start with the first letter on the page,
we are afraid.
Afraid about starting the thought our
mind has instigated & what will be the best way to begin?

From the first chapter’s completion,
till the transition of next, we are afraid.
Afraid that if we fail to write again
and live in our real world,
we’ll get exiled from the world we created.

From the introduction of the protagonist,
till the elevation of events, we are afraid.
Afraid that our imaginary friends may leave
us high & dry in the middle and
our story would never proceed.

From the triumph and the climax,
till the final verdict of the book, we are afraid.
Afraid about any plot holes we may have
left in our world.
The story we invested everything in.

From the forming of another plot,
till the publishing of current,
we are afraid,
Afraid if we can even live long enough
to tell the world our stories by our pen.

I agree we are paranoid,
but we’re the fuel.
We’re the ones who remember,
the tellers of truth & tales.
We’re the thinkers and the ones
who never give up even after rejections.

It’s because we know our worth.
It’s because we know we’re writers.


©The Honest Fabler
©Handwriting credits – @theartisticmess

Post-Script:

The past few weeks were buried under academics and extra-curricular activities. I almost forgot the feel of blogging, but it’s really great to be back♥ Wish you guys a great week ahead!

Innocence

innocence

Innocence.

In her eyes, the world was pure;
So pure that even I felt safe.
No evil could harm her soul,
for she believed I can protect her.
Her happy face would start my day;
Her tired yawns would mean good night.
In her whole palm she held my finger,
While my palm could hold her arm.
She knew nothing about the world,
A lone reason behind her happiness.
The more she discovered,
The less she believed;
The more she realized,
The less she smiled;
The more she failed,
The less she tried.

Thus in the end, if there ever is one,
I’d wish nothing but an eternal childhood for the juveniles who are still innocent and away from the grief.


©The Honest Fabler
In frame: My cousin Saee.

ON A RED WINE TRAIL

A glass of red wine

On a cold night,
lies a circular lake
the colour of blood;
Christ’s blood.
Wavering liquid
and dancing lights,
breathing spirit
from red enigma.
It shines and reflects
as I sit to ponder.

On life –
with mourners and celebrators,
travellers and settlers,
blood and water,
with old and new.
The first is last,
with numbers and signs,
in time and space,
with echoes and sirens.
Paths are etched,
erased or opened.
All is well.

Cupped in glass,
crystal or cracked.
A chalice,
a source,
a symbol of hope.
With one sip,
it engulfs and nourishes me
threefold.
A taste once foreign is
now medicine that heals.
Beyond all limits,
it’s mercy and grace.

Slipping down inside a crystal chandelier
red rouge cheeks running on through
breathe as visions settle in my mind
you’re just a little bit of nutty
with an apricot perfume
quite exceptional I do say
a kindred spirit bouquet

Teasing along the tip of my palate
caramel gaze of grandeur glows
as you kiss my parched lips away
partaking a perfect compliment
in every simple way
sparkles spill in anticipation
topping off a pleasant day.

© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source- Www.widewallpapers.com

Spread your wings.

wings

Lift your wings to fly.

 

There is no safety here.

This morning in the garden
your words fell out.
Your mouth opened
and ran out of things to say.

Light abandoned and every corner
you went into the spaces
hid away and you became,
just another voice in the wind.

No one notices when the snow
begins and the motels
close and none of the roads
lead home and none of the homes
even have roads
that could take you there.

This morning you collapsed
in on yourself,
and it was only the air
that felt you’re falling.

We heard the
song before we
saw the truck,
and fueled by
heart and hunger,
raced across
the clover field.

You in the lead
as always,
riding free handed,
your smile fuller
than a rain heavy sky.

Majestic creator of geometry
Of my peering face, window,
weeping willow tree.
Her body cropped against the landscape
Cradles birds, leaves, buildings,
Rain and shadows.
In open arms.

Her ever-changing robe.
Sapphire, crimson, auburn, gold.
Continuously alters the wrapping paper.
Presenting the Earth to mankind.

The world ends where the sky begins,
Nothing lies beyond the horizon
But the knowledge
of the stars,
Reaching beyond the Milky Way
Whose luminescence strokes my tabletop,
In a tiny apartment
A gleaming box of light
Adorning the vast expanse of a building,
Carved along the edges
Of a clear night sky.


© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source- Pooja Mukherjee

Magical Embrace

As the seconds pass…
We look back…
Of what our lives have held…
As the minutes pass…
We see what fell through the cracks…
Parts of our lives we withheld…
As the hours pass…
We think of what we learned…
What we have taught…
What we have forgot…
As the days pass…
We wish a lot could be returned…
We wish we would of never fought…
You hope they forget-me not…
As years pass…
You stand alone…
They have all grown…
Married and gone…
Or on their own…
As your life passes…
You stand proud…
Looking how well they raise their own…
You did well…
Live on…

If at times you feel you want to cry.
And life seems such a trial.
Above the clouds there’s a bright blue sky
So make your tears a smile.

As you travel on life’s way
With its many ups and downs
Remember it’s quite true to say
One smile is worth a dozen frowns.

Among the worlds expensive things
A smile is very cheap
And when you give a smile away,
You get one back to keep.

Happiness comes at times to all
But sadness comes unbidden
And sometimes a few tears must fall
Among the laughter hidden.

So when friends have sadness on their face
And troubles round them piled
The world will seem a better place
And all because you smiled.

My best friend is a book
that doesn’t give me a weird look.
It is like a golden door
that takes me to the land where I have never been before.
It tells me the tales of fairy
that take me to the land full of merry.
You can never go wrong with a book
Because a book is like your friend
And a book as you know never comes to an END.


© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-  Wide Wallpapers