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!

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

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

Library Romance.

library

Library Romance – Every New Time.

The first time I saw her smile,
it was through the gaps of the library shelves that she stood beyond.

The first time we exchanged a glance,
she laughed too hard while reading a comic under the “Keep Silence” board.

The first time I talked to her,
she dropped her favorite bookmark in the crack between two tables which I helped to lift.


The second time I didn’t only see her smile,
I smiled with her.

The second time we didn’t only exchange a glance,
we stared directly in our eyes looking for solace.

The second time I didn’t only talk to her,
I confessed to her about how I felt that she had the brightest smile I’d ever seen
and the sweetest voice I’d ever heard.


The third time I definitely didn’t see her smile,
she cried her eyes out in her father’s arms.

The third time we definitely couldn’t exchange a glance,
since her eyes were drenched with tears and her mascara all over.

The third time I definitely didn’t talk to her,
because it was her turn to repeat the vows and say “I do”


©The Honest Fabler ~Ashutosh Gursale
©Image Source- @theartisticmess

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

The Blank String

Family along the streets.

Just a few bodies live together in a hole,a burrow in a space of cement concrete.
Pigeons that return on beaks of worms,gophers in their holes of common space.
Exploring life,sharing its outer darkness,as the sky hangs in balance,tautly held.

Our children eat porridge off our hands, we are their white walls,with nail-holes.
Their clothes are hung in our blankness.

Old man stare at ceilings,under the stairs,sagging cots bring them closer to the earth.
Away from the overhanging sky of the roof.
Just a few bodies that return to the earth,one by one noting each other’s presence.

Salvaged pastels,
Make up a chalky wraith,swaying and sighing,from day to day and night to night.

Dust filled drops
Frozen on the cheeks,lacklustre and void of roses,petals fallen like crumbled ash.

Pools of Black Death
Afraid and burned by light,no longer dilating or rippling,standing still in time .

No more visitors of Life Only sights of a ghost prison,gray buildings,and empty avenues.

The broken,the lifeless,the angry,the wraith that walk along the streets.

Along the streets.
Along the streets.


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

Prismatic Life

As clouds express their sweet refrain
And we are blessed by morning rain.

When rainbows form in misty skies
Clouds present treasures for our eyes.

There is a rainbow in my world today,
With every word you write my way.
Colors of emotions flow in harmony,
as they spread across the sky in unity.
Wrap me in your red, orange and blue,
fill me with the purple passion of you.
You make the sky shine after that rain,
softly your soul pushes away the pain.
In every luxurious line that you say,
you are the rainbow in my world today.

Colours of life

White, as far as the eye can see snow had finally arrived to every place but me..

Black, Shadows lurk the streets strikes fear into my heart and finds the soul he eats..

Green,eyes never ending in that one shade rare but findable frightening but lovely a creation in which evolution has made..

Blue,the ocean has a calm and safe feeling an Unstoppable full of emotion you look and see it will never stop seeking..

Red,Flames lightning up one by one heat fills the space as well as hate close your eyes and hope this will be undone..

Yellow, illumination covers my site the colour has blinded my view and I am the only one to witness this light..

Purple, my own realistic fantasy a dream where the world is different and I am forced to see..

Orange, and year of happiness is now here energy flows through me until the power is surrounding us everywhere.

Everywhere we see the passion in these colours of life we embrace.

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

Dripsy Dropsy

Dripsy Dropsy

Monsoon’s Dripsy Dropsy Rhythm

Falling Down, pooling up,
Out of the sky, into my cup.
What is this wet that comes from above,
That some call disaster, and others find love.
The harder it falls, the less it is nice,
The colder it falls the harder the ice.
The rain has an art that I may not get,
So I stand still here and get soaking wet.
Red, blue or cream.
They all shout in joy,
Rain you always come in my dream.
Whenever it rains, I feel so free
Free as a bird, rain is my life
Washing away my troubles
Quenching my sun-baked soul
While others rush for cover
I stroll among the empty streets
The rain dancing upon my lips.


©The Honest FablerPooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Google Images

A BLACK RAY

ray

Did you listen?

I have felt like this for a while,
but I have kept it all inside.
This time, though, its way too much,
I do not think that I can not cry.
This sense of loss and emptiness,
most people feel it too.
I hope if I don’t voice it,
it will pass on through.

This feeling has not passed,
I think it’s here to stay.
Yet, what is making me feel this,
I really cannot say or lest sense the hope’s ray.
It’s more like something is missing,
than something causing pain.
It’s messing with my mind,
it makes me feel insane.

I have realized something though,
it’s only for me to decide.
Do I want to live my life,
or always wonder why?

A life where no one even knows I exist,
where everything I have ever known was a lie.
A life where everyone avoids me,
where I become just an another forgotten memory.

A life where I question whether the world I am living in is real, or a figment of my imagination,
where nothing seems familiar,
and I forget where I am,
and I don’t know how to get back home.
Destined to walk this lonely world,
forever,
Lost…

I try to tell myself
but the cuts tell me different.
What am I to do with all these dreams of
death and tormenting?
Am I to lock it up and hide my feelings?
That seems the only way.
But why can’t I be saved again?
Am I so damaged that I can’t be saved ?
Broken with every care in my heart.
Do I even have a heart anymore ?
Can I show love anymore ?
Can I smile without hiding how I really feel?
It goes on and on and I have nothing.
No one,forever,
Lost…


©The Honest FablerPooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Google Images