~listen to your heart, love~
- an angel of light -
It's been a while since we met in the heavenly pouring inky rain. Ever since then, our verses whispered to each other, similes bloomed as smiles and metaphors exchanged melancholy. You, a bright light of bubble floating in the sweet air. And I, a beauteous charm of blossom swaying in the warm breeze.
We didn't know how much our passion fueled our pursuit. Cause our hearts connect to each other through dreams. And as dreamers, we became writers.
~ a writer is a dreamer ~
Being a dreamer, is the nature of a writer
Thoughts reaching out to the clouds above
To float on the fantasies spreading the welkin
For their dream is to fly freely, they sprout wings
Wings of fire, in the colors of their desire
Weigh heavy as they roam around and dream
Sliding down the rainbows and scribbling art
Heart drenching when the muse drizzle down
/ a writer never learns to write, they just discover the existing melodies within their soul and sing aloud in the outbreak of epiphany /
You've been wandering in the dark alleys of muddled thoughts with an empty mind, a cold heart and a numb soul. You tried to chase your muse in secrets and scenery, landscapes and portraits, paintings and polaroids, music and memories. But you never found a trail even for your senses to catch a scent. Then at last, you saw your muse leave your soul and stood still, helpless as an infant and voiceless as an outcast.
I wished to reach out to you but your heartbeat was away from me, far away. I never knew your melancholy overtook your mornings and deserted your days and dreams. That you were seeking for a sense of clarity amidst the cacophony of chaos. I didn't know your nights were drowning in nightmares.
~ writer's block is a nightmare ~
Over the time, the muse departs their dreams
Flight gets deranged and the fight gets enraged
Even dreaming becomes unbearable, you cry
Tremble in the thunder and whimper in the rain
But you can't give up the fight, you are a warrior
The mighty pen is your sword, wield it with courage
The blank paper is your infinite sky, wide and welcoming
Pour your ink as stars and embellish it with your light
/ a writer never ceases to write, they just pause to release the dying dreads that dishearten them and to breathe in the freshness so that their thoughts evolve /
You are not as lost as never to be found again. A silent veil of solitude just embraced you to calm your racing thoughts. Pause, your soul demands a break, devoid of any distractions. This is the only way for it to let you know. Or else you'll burn it into the next life in the fire of rage. Retreat to nature, to the calm waves of ocean, to the endless empyrean. And stay there for a while.
You are not under any pressure to pen down within prescribed time. You don't have to write to keep the title of a writer. You don't have to behave as you are fine to yourself. Accept that you need this precious time and let the passing clouds of pressure disappear. Then one fine day, you will find yourself in your mirror, meet the smile you've missed and hold the pen you've hidden. You'll pen again about the tales of passion that played hide and seek with your heart. You'll realize that your muse is within you - Yourself !
Listen to your heart love, it knows the way around. And I'll be here, waiting for you in the daydreamy clouds. We'll orchestrate a symphony and dedicate it to our muse - our soul !
// We are writers, we have souls of star dust
We glitter even when we crumble and we shine
Even when we shoot across the infinite sky //
- an angel of love -