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

Winking Cupcake

I sink my shiny white teeth into
The rich creamy delicious chocolate cake .
I lick my lips,I think I am addicted.
My mind sighs blackberries
and a moonstruck melody
plays along my spine
as I soak up the fruited juice
of I love you coloring your lips
The cherry blush of breathless,
And a smile amid the wash
Of blueberry eyes, should indicate
My intended reply.

I am looking blindly into the fridge.
You are the keeper of my heart.
Its natural form bleeds away in a sticky juice.
She laughed as softly as if she sighed,
I wondered though would she ever love me,
Her smile revealed things only I could see,
Now would I tell her of the things I thought
I wondered though would she ever love me.
What is this feeling that has made me taut?

Now would I tell her of the things I thought
All other food but love I’d surely spare
What is this feeling that has made me taut
My life I’d gently give to her with care
All other food but love I’d surely spare,
Then I would be hers and she would be mine,
A life together we would have to build,
My love and joy swelled up until I cried,
I’d be her love,companion and her shield,
She laughed as softly as if she sighed.


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

My Best Half

Time’s due / My best half.

First time we met.
We smiled, laughed and played
by the big Oak Tree in the back.
A kindergarten friendship we made.

It lasted for years,
Through all of the school life.
Laughs and smiles,
Fights and tears.

And now we know,
We are never apart.
If I did anything right,
In life…

It was giving you my heart.
Time, if I had all the time in the world
I would want absolutely nothing.
It is not time itself that makes your life worth something.

In the time that I have,
I will be kind, gentle
and more giving.
I will take advantage of all the time I have to show more joy;
I’ll be living.

I will take the time that I have
to listen more intently.
I will respond and speak more
wisely and more softly.

In the time that I have
I will share it with those whom I love,
Because I have no idea how much time I have;
that is up to God above.

In the time that I have
I will devote myself to God through you.
Let the word of God enlighten me
because without her I have no life.

In the time that I have
I will love and honor my wife in all that I do.
I do this out of love, a devoted and
never ending love for you.

In the time that I have I will share a passion
for a blessed and positive life.
I will make the time to share my love with
my one greatest blessing, my beautiful wife.

In the time that we have together I will lift you up
in spirit and to God I will pray.
That you have health, kindness, and love as part of your blessing each and every day.
Time is no longer my friend, and I know that is true.

My wife, that is why I want to devote all my time in loving you.


© The Honest Fabler– Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source- Wides Wallpapers

बारिश की यादें। Memories of Rain – Hindi

बारिश

बारिश के बूंदो ने जो हमे भिगो दिया,
ऐसा लगा मानो हमने आपको फिर छू लिया।
सौंधी खुशबू आई इस धरती की,
पर ऐसा लगा मानो हमने आपको फिर पा लिया।


Translation:

When the drops of rain drenched me,
It felt like the lost touch of your fingers.
The petrichor came from the earth,
But it felt like I found my lost treasure- that’s you.


It’s my first try at a language other than English. Hindi, here. I’d really appreciate your feedback and ways for me to improve! Thank you. ^-^

©The Honest Fabler

©Image source- Ashutosh Gursale

Invigorate thy soul

soul

From one soul to another.

Every person fights a battle.

A battle fought for a reason you’ll never know.
A battle whose victor you’ll never predict.
But one thing I tell you:
This battle is the sole reason that makes a person the way they are.

You remember that happy guy you always see across the hallway? Maybe he’s still fighting his war and losing. Yet the reason he’s happy could be his will to be strong, the only thing that keeps him going.
Or maybe he has finished his wars and came out victorious.
But how ironic that you’ll never know since you couldn’t go up to him and ask, “How are you?” Rather than staring at him from a distance.

For another instance, have a look at that other girl who goes unnoticed. You wonder why she’s quiet? Because her friends are more popular than she is. Because you didn’t care enough to look past her friends and ask her how her day was or even, where she came from. But that doesn’t bother her. Yes, I repeat, it doesn’t bother her.
The only reason it happens is because her war is much intense. There are victories she wants to celebrate, defeats she want to feel sympathy for but there’s no time. The wars in her head never stop.
Or maybe that’s since she needs you to just ask her “How are you?” Rather than where her friends are.

It could all be this simple, just ask. Because in the end even you have a war to fight and alone, the nights are darker and days longer.
Stay strong, my friend. You’ll get through this.


©The Honest Fabler

©Image Source – Google Images

Send me a man.

send me a man

Send me a man.

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man, who’s not a creep,
One who’s handsome, smart and strong.
Who loves to listen long,
And think before he speaks,
Send me a man who’ll call and not wait for weeks.

I pray he’s gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, he won’t be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! Send me a man who’ll make love to my mind,
Knows what to answer when I ask
“How big is my behind?”

I pray that this man will love me to no end, And always be my very
best friend.


©The Honest Fabler Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Wallpaperswide.com

The Imperfect Mystery — Me

imperfect mystery

A little piece to the Imperfect Mystery of my life.

He was a mystery, or maybe he just wanted to be one.
In the world full of chimeric perfection, he was nowhere. He was flawed, so flawed that he’d be hanged if imperfection was a felony.
Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

Growing up as a mediocre and being reminded about it every morning in the hallways of his school, he knew he didn’t belong there. Amidst the fake smiles, fake promises and real envy.
All he wished for, back then, was an escape.
An escape from the misery, from the embarrassment of being himself and from the very own reality he lived in.
Nevertheless, there was one thing he liked about being the way he was— his subconscious. The part of his intellect that showed to him the sacred and the happy worlds of imagination. A world where he was perfect. Perfect not because he had perfectly aligned teeth and a fashionable dressing sense but because his world’s definition of perfect was being real.

Diplomacy, flattery, envy and jealousy were mere letters of the alphabet put together which had no meaning. Love, appreciation and happiness was all that mattered, here.
There was one major problem, however. It all existed in his mind. A place which only he could access, a world which no one else would knew about.
Alas, he was bound be mediocre in the real world and a perfect piece in the non-real world.

Then what changed him? What made him the person who he is now? A person with a smile always glued to his face and the illumination of burning stars in his eyes.

The answer is simple. The pen and paper, the keyboard and screen, the alphabet and ink, the imagination and curiosity, the words and the stories they tell, the rhymes and the songs they create. It was the power of his mind. The power of his will. Moreover, it was the power of writing. His greatest feat. His deepest rumination.

Is he perfect now? If you wonder, then you should know he’s not. He’s still the same mediocre man in the real world but he’s changing the real world. Contributing with others to make the real world a non-real utopia.

So maybe he is perfect, after all or maybe he just wants to be.


©The Honest Fabler Ashutosh Gursale
©Image source- Myself!

Illuminating darkness.

Darkness

Robert’s mind wandered around his deadline, even while he rested his head on the glass window. He had to complete a week’s work in just one night. And the train was an hour away from home. If he had a list of things he hated, it’ll only be 4 words long. 

  1. Rescheduled Deadlines.
  2. Late trains.

“Dear, what’s the next station?” The woman next to him gave a mild shock. It wasn’t everyday that the commuters talked to each other and she didn’t seem like a daily commuter, either.

Robert had a look outside the glass pane and turned to her, “Wolfshire. Where do you have to get down?”

“Wolfshire.” She smiled sheepishly and fetched dark glasses from her purse and placed them neatly over her nose. “Guess I should get going.” She stood up but the train’s jerk pushed her back down.

“What happened?” Her expressions confused, just like Robert’s.

“Think the train doesn’t want you to go, just yet.” He forced a happy tone, suppressing the irritation underneath. “However, the electric supply is gone.”

“Oh dear, that’s trouble for you. Ironically, my internal lights have gone off long ago.” Her words left a trail. “Could you do me a little favor and tell me what’s going outside?”

Robert was already tired after a long day at work, but he didn’t feel like it was her fault, so he shrugged and looked around.

“​It’s almost dusk. The sky has turned plump orange and the clouds look like waves coming from the ocean.” Robert paused to check if she’s listening and continued.

Illumination

There is no residential area nearby but I can see a few people. There’s a girl, learning to skate down the tiny hill with her father. Her father is holding on to her waist so she doesn’t fall but oh- wow- he isn’t holding her anymore and she can skate on her own!” Robert smiled to himself, reminiscing his days as a child.

“A few meters away, there are two men walking with arms around each other, enjoying the Autumn’s breeze having the time of their lives. I think they’ve heard something now, they’re running towards the sound. I can’t see what’s happening, they’re possibly below the street level.” He said, trying to stand and have a good look.

“Ten to twenty meters above them, there’s a herd of parrots. They’re too tiny as they’re kissing the sky but I’m sure they are parrots because back in my hometown’s tiny forest, we had a their homes.”

“The two men and the girl who was skating with her father were the only ones on that street but now there’s a small mob gathering around something. They’re all rushing in together, happy faces everywhere.” Robert’s mind isn’t in the train, anymore, it’s with the people on the road, pushing each other to get a glance of the source of the cute noise.

“Ah, now I see it. It’s a box of puppies, and there’s another! So, there are two box of cute stray puppies who’ll be apparently finding themselves a home today.” He sat back and thought how happy puppies make him and how nostalgic the parrots are. “We’re going home, too. The train has started, ma’am.”

But the ma’am had already vanished from her seat, he leaned from his seat to check if she was anywhere in the passage but he failed to spot her. Smiling to himself he silently thanked her and dozed off to a peaceful sleep.


©The Honest Fabler – Ashutosh Gursale

©Image source- Google Images