Story of a writer who writes stories…

The moment of pride, joy and sorrow for a writer when the story comes to its last line, last word…even if it’s just a file in a folder for many, it’s child to its creater who gave birth to the names, people and protagonists living inside those pages.

After going through ups and downs with those people every day, when rest of the world went to sleep, the writer is now left alone and sad…like the parent whose child has moved out for a job or a best friend who is now in another city…what now?

The joy and the sigh of strange pain…story of a writer who writes stories.

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Recipe of me…!!!!

Mix few glasses of anger

With little swagger,

A jar of tears

Salty yet so clear,

A spoon of awesomeness

A bag full of emotional mess

Few cups of hopelessness,

Pain and sorrow

One box each

10-12 glasses of fear

Some scream some screech,

½ a cup of fault

All the parts

Of a finely shredded heart,

Garnish it with anxiety

& breathlessness,

Pinch of stress

And perfectly cut pieces

Of facelessness

emptiness

& lies,

Stir it neatly

And you might

get it right,

The recipe

Of creating me….

 

 

 

Not because i was shy…!!!!

Dear Diary,

How are you?

Do you still carry?

All the words

I wrote to you

Is the world

Inside

Still has the girl

Who used to hide?

From every face

Every eye

Not because

She was shy.

Do you keep

Those secrets

I scribbled

With hate

And anger

Of being lonely

Different

& ugly

I hope not.

Every thought

I wrote

Wasn’t real

But the fear

Those tear

Drops on the corner

Of blotted ink

Were a different

Story

Of pain and worry

Friends i lived with.

I remember diary

Very clearly

I was lonesome

A forlorn little

Girl

There were some

Confessions

Many painful expressions

You listened

You took them all

With you there

Was no wall.

I hope

Its safe

The confession made

The secrets said

The truth whispered

The darkness shared.

You knew me well

You knew both

Hyde & Jekyll

Living inside me

For i was never free

Of pretending

Smiling & nodding

When all i wanted

Was to be mend

For i was broken

Fallen

Pieces of dejection

Seeking affection

For the other me

The one hidden

Behind the smiles

Driven

Miles

Away from everyone.

For no one

Gets it

I think

I wrote

All that

& more.

Are there any

Happy words?

Maybe not many

But a few threads

Of peachy lines

Saying things like

Im fine

Sky is blue

Trees are green

World is not

Always mean.

Diary

There is no way

I never wrote of

A happy day

Im sure i did

I remember

Smiling & dreaming

Or were they

Dreams for real

Not a memory

Scribbled down

Among the many

Frowns

I drew

On you.

Diary i need

You to read

Me

Few of those

Love songs

I wrote

In the world

Of right and wrongs

I fell

Hard in love

Broken

From toe to above

I was happy & in pain

For i saw rain

Of sorrow & ache

A heart so broken

No one wants to take.

I loved

But truth was shoved

Down my head

You follow the thread

Not a step away

So i did

I hid

Inside your arms

Holding your face

Diary you were my saving grace.

For i had a journey

Of a withering tree

Standing tall

Yet not free

In you i was hiding

From the big blue sky

Not because i was shy…!!!!!