A Timepass Writer’s History

22/11/21

I have done numerous writing projects in my college days for the simple reason that I didn’t want to waste my time. These were personal writing projects, I did a lot of poetry too, and I suppose this blog would be now used for the same.

Sometimes giving words to feelings is a difficult thing but that’s what writers do. They give words to feelings.

There was a dream,

A small one.

An assumption,

That everything will be alright

Gave wings to that dream.

An assumption,

That you only need to

Do the requisite,

And everything will be alright,

But it didn’t.

The sun kept shining,

Rising and setting everyday,

And the days passed,

The time passed,

In the hope that

Everything will be alright.

The wait was long

And the realisation struck.

It was not you,

It was never you,

And it was always you.

I never wanted to be a poet. I wanted to be a writer. I wrote poetry for easing myself, for relief. There comes a time when you assess and compile your writings. At first my poetry was romantic, but as time passed it gained a political flavour, why you would ask, and the answer is probably either writers are just skilled individuals, or they have gone through some trauma and write for relief or there is political oppression and they write against it. I personally don’t want to do anything with politics, unless and until it doesn’t continue with the methods of oppression specifically on me. I have a simple rule, if I can help, I will help in a personal capacity. I wouldn’t want to improve the system. The ones who are incharge of the system are capable enough to improve it and if it is a trashy system, it is because they want to be it that way. I would stick to helping individuals in a personal capacity than taking up arms (or pen) against an oppressive and tyrannical system. I write for pleasure, for the pleasure of creating and to give others the pleasure (or pain) of reading. I also write for aesthetic, or sometimes against it.

The boy saw a dream

And the dream became real.

Was it summertime or the winter

When you were thrown to the fringe.

You said falling into the abyss

Is just a chance to learn skydiving,

But do they have skydiving in your village?

It was a time when you were attracted

To the scent of a woman,

Isn’t a woman always a bait

For good men?

When the world feels

As if it’s closing in on you,

You ask what have you done.

Dr. Faustus or Sisyphus,

Or the good old Narcissus?

But you were none.

Thoughts are things

You read once.

And you took a pill in Ibiza,

Just to be the king of the world.

To kill the queen with a katana,

And send mosquitoes into a blackhole

From where they would never return,

One less nuisance from the Pandora’s box,

Or so you thought.

I would continue my projects here if I get enough time. Non-fiction was never my thing, but I did write some of it. There was a time in my life when writing helped me survive, it helped me through the lows and even if I don’t want to be a published writer anymore, I don’t think it’s good to abandon something which helped you survive in your worst days.