On writing, poetry and not-so-poetry

How do I know

When the moonlight’s glow

feigns me as my friend?

How do I know

When the ever-watching crow

lures me towards the very end?


As innocuous as it sounds – my lame attempts at writing a poem, seems to have lost their way in the middle. Weirdly, my venture into this world of writing started with poems, and the novels and other stories followed after a long time. I practically wrote poems on everything back in those days, rhyming, not rhyming, searching the dictionary for synonyms which rhymed – gaah. What an ordeal! But thinking about those days also brings a smile in my face, thinking how crazy I had been over poems and trying to get a meaningful four, eight or maybe more lines out of my mind into the paper.

It was a love-hate amongst people who read my signs of prudence. Some told me that I wrote the poems about affection the best, some told me that they liked the ones about solitude. Some hated them altogether. The mixed review had me going nuts – I absolutely loathed who said bad stuff about what I wrote; It was a paternal/maternal feeling, a protective feeling altogether to be very fair, that no foul comments were entertained.

Things always changed – and then one fine morning, the prose happened to happen. How about a story? How about a novel? And lo! there I was, trying to jot down a thousand (yikes!) words which had a concrete plot in them, hidden or bare, and altogether didn’t sound disjointed. From the world of very few words, I came head first into the sea of them, hoping to find my salvation.

Did I find it yet? That’s a question that I will look to answer in the following few posts. I hope you won’t find the reasons disjointed, like most of my texts have been accused of.


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