#letter

2341 posts
  • doc_writes 12h

    आज ।

    अफरा तफरी है यहां बहुत और बहुत सजा धजा है सब कुछ
    और क्यों ना हो
    यह जिस्मों का मेला है
    यहां रूह का सौदा होता है वो भी बेशूमार
    जाने अनजाने मे ही सही
    हर कोई अपना सब कुछ खोता है यहां
    यह है आज का दौर और यह हैं आज के विचार।
    ©doc_writes

  • wilmaneels1 2d

    So what if the words don't come
    What do you do
    If you spew them at ease the one minute
    The next they dry up

    I would say be in that moment
    Don't force it
    It comes and goes
    Your muse needs a break from time to time

    Don't focus on the blockage
    It will just drive you insane
    Writer's block will come and go
    It's not something you can control
    But you do control what you do while you wait for it to be awaken
    ©wilmaneels1
    @11042021

  • romantic__ 2d

    writing is like feeding plants water.
    you need to do it everyday of the week
    but sometimes you don’t think you can.
    you try to feel past the emotional waves
    and the hurricanes above you but
    those flowers in your garden don’t need
    it.
    they need attention, water, and sunlight.
    but you need a reason to get out of bed in
    the morning.
    you need a reason to keep feeding those
    flowers water instead of dry dirt.
    and the pen you write with is drying up
    with the ink you haven’t used.
    i can see how your tired and can’t put
    all the words inside your storm onto the
    sandy beach.
    i can see how i’m getting scared that my
    words are becoming bleak and stained with
    my blue blood.
    this page is crying from the lack of attention
    you give it.
    and you and i are the same.

    #letter #wod @mirakee

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    writing is like
    feeding plants
    water


    ©romantic__
    B.B.

  • ak_anjali_daydreamzz 2d

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #mirakee #writersnetwork
    #letter #wod #pod #writer #writersblock #anjali

    @someone_alive (*_*)
    Dear Bubbles, hope you like it, from your Blossom ♡

    All written rights reserved
    12 April Monday 12 am

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    ~listen to your heart, love~

    To Anjali 
    - 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 // 

    From Anjali
    - an angel of love -

    ©ak_anjali_daydreamzz

  • zoya_charmz 2d

    Dear writers,

    Hope you're mending your broken heart.
    Are you suffering from the mess called,
    writer's block? Hold on for your desirable
    words will speak out of this mess and your
    heart would sprinkle chamomile essence.

    • Firstly writer's block is not a permanent
    member for now it has been seeking for
    a rescue to ensure his prisoner like life
    dwindling from some genius books.

    • It's highly unprofessional for its whole
    address changes from one brain to another
    showing the breakable collarbone within
    an hour like a cloud walker.

    • Mastered in chaos randomly blows
    cigarette smokes, makes rough
    sketches, sitting idle upon the rocks
    like residing in a lonely planet.

    • Running away often with dyspnoea,
    getting stuck there in its own diaphragm.
    Rooted hairs are stronger than this
    mortal writer's block.

    • You're a grey butterfly painting winter
    flowers, performing ballads like the night
    stars which burns itself to wave bright
    lights in the region full of demons.

    //You're a kind, bewitching reader who knows
    different ways to mould and master his
    skills in the intoxicating nights when some
    folks get drowned into the oceans of infatuation//

    ~~~~~

    ������������ ������������ ����������

    Grasping the dulcet spring,
    nuances collab with the lilac
    valley, every pain gets wiped
    off from the hearts of the
    vintage enthusiast.

    Breaking the glass ceilings,
    carving mountains into footpaths
    where freedom was once
    strangulated amongst the
    wild crowds.

    Flipping the pages of life like
    a vagabond walks the genres
    with his clumsy feet heedless
    of the end of his journey.

    The white jasmine blooms in the
    scarlet red heart embellish the
    gardens of creativity and gifting the
    writer's mind a paradise of artistry.

    ------------------------------------------------------------

    //I guess you have got some of your
    answers, if not don't worry as your mind
    will stretch beyond its limits and you'll
    find the infinite ways to swing in the
    nights of silvery moon//

    Take care beautiful soul.

    From
    Someone with writer's block
    ©��������_������������
    ______________________________________________
    #letter #picturec

    Totally a mess.

    @theinkdomain Bear it plz ��

    11th Apr, 21

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    .

  • missveen 2d

    Dear you,
    Everyone learn to write
    Some writes so beautifully
    Some struggle much and more
    Here I am one of those
    Who is extremely bad at it
    But
    Struggle is never bigger than
    The fire in me to be a writer
    Am glad am a literate
    Able to write some simple words
    May be am poor at vocabulary
    But my emotion that spills
    Through my poor writing
    Is strong enough to penetrate the soul
    I will continue to write
    So shall you my dear
    Together we let our soul speak silently
    Just by alphabets
    Gladly we share it with those
    Who has the same hunger like us
    ©missveen

  • karumpiravee 2d

    #letter #wod
    As me how I ask to me
    Arrest me how I answer to me
    Be me how I became as me
    Because me how I believe in me
    Close me how to choose me
    Class me how I classify me
    Drive me how to draw me
    Derive me how to define me
    Eject me how to erase me
    Effort me how to eradicate me
    Fill me how to find me
    Fit me how to finish me
    Glow me how to grow me
    Give me how to gate me
    Hint me how to hit me
    Hide me how to hope me
    Ice me how to identify me
    Ignite me how to include me
    Join me how to jerk me
    Josh me how to jam me
    Kid me how to kind me
    Keep me how to kill me
    Let me how to live as me
    Link me how to learn me
    Move me how to mold me
    Meet me how to miss me
    Name me how to narrate me
    Navigate me how to nest in me
    Open me how to overcome me
    Own me how to operate me
    Peel me how to pin me
    Plug me how to play with me.............

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    Beleive me

  • sproutedseeds 2d

    Dear friend,

    You introduced me to Mirakee, a platform to express our thoughts.

    I used to get inspired by your every post
    and get motivated to write.

    You wrote on every topic with a different approach every time.

    But now, for the past couple of weeks I don't find your posts. I know you got discouraged with the less number of likes and reposts for your posts.

    Every person is unique.
    Every day there are new poets whose
    level may be different in vocabulary and
    style. They started getting recognition
    with just few posts, but not you. I understand.

    That's fine. This platform is to vent our ideas into words on the given challenge.
    We are not going to be awarded for the many likes or more reposts.

    Be simple with simple words to pen and easy to understand. Accept the fact that your vocab is simple and continue with your
    profound pieces to satisfy yourself.

    Yours follower on Mirakee
    ©sproutedseeds
    11.04.21

  • carrie09 2d

    Dear friend,
    You lost your way and strays
    in dark woods of uncertainty
    and empty space of words,but
    so do i.The wings of our quills
    had weaken the will to paint
    metaphors on caelum of the
    sky.These are moments of
    glooms when stars lost their
    gleams, the moon eclipsed
    wild waves of emotions whist.

    Dear friend, in time may we find
    our way back home to rekindle
    the fire of emotions that been
    subdued and buried by the
    primeval hills.In time the seeds
    of your words will be sprout back
    to burgeon in the realm of writing
    the raiment of your heart like days of yore.

    At the end let me read for you
    these lines by Yusef Komunyakaa
    "When I am in a desert season of
    writing,when it feels like all my
    words have dried up I know that
    my quickest way back is to read....."
    "Anything that one can possibly
    read,this feed the imagination "


    ©carrie09

  • distilled_thoughts 2d

    DEAR WRITER,

    I know your predicament,
    Letters escape your grasp,
    Thoughts buzz around,
    Irksome bees inside your head,
    Evading your net spun with words.

    Please know that you are not alone,
    Apasia might make you a prisoner,
    Inside your mind, bouncing ideas
    Like a ball against the muting walls.

    This is just a passing phase, promise
    Soon you'll be free,
    Words will come rushing,
    Thoughts flowing unhindered,
    The dam checking you will burst, soon.

    ©distilled_thoughts


    #letter #wod #writersblock #apasia #wall #prisoner #thoughts #words #writer

    #ceesreposts #reposts
    @writersnetwork @mirakee @a_gentilischi @childauthor_345 @soulfulstirrings

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    Dear Writer,

    I know your predicament,
    Letters escape your grasp,
    Thoughts buzz around,
    Irksome bees inside your head,
    Evading your net spun with words.

    Please know that you are not alone,
    Apasia might make you a prisoner,
    Inside your mind, bouncing ideas
    Like a ball against the muting walls.

    This is just a passing phase, promise
    Soon you'll be free,
    Words will come rushing,
    Thoughts flowing unhindered,
    The dam checking you will burst, soon.

    ©distilled_thoughts

  • syedat 2d

    To the writers out there...you all are the real awesome and cool one...��������
    #letter
    #Wod
    #Pod
    #mirakee
    #writers
    #writersnetwork
    #wordart

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    Hey mr/miss word artists...
    Or as we usually say...writers...

    i am here to thank you for letting your emotion flow artisticly through words...❤❤
    i am here to thank you for allowing us to connect with your emotional world...
    Your words heals the hearts out there...
    Your insight gives us a new view altogether..
    Not everyone can play with words like you do....
    Not everyone can express through words like you....

    To feel like you are having a less of ideas is indeed a part of "the writing life"...♠♠
    But you know what....
    if you keep going on...ideas will evolve on it's own....you just need to maintain the constant habit of jotting down every single piece of word art your brain forms...
    We... the readers of your work... knows what you are capable of...So buckup, pick your pen paper combo and...Start your artistic word play.....
    Noting is impossible....


    ©Syedat

  • karumpiravee 2d

    Preserve me to pre serve for you
    Reserve me to re serve for you

    just feel like a writer

  • anuradha2212 2d

    Pen, Paper and You.

    I know how it feels,
    The pain of betrayal slowly kills.
    They say, a group of three friends is the best,
    and with 'pen' and 'paper', your group of three was all set.
    You always claimed your friends are different from the rest,
    that with them, your feelings flow freely and your words they appreciate.

    It's painful when your very own people let you down,
    When the ones who always made you smile, now stare at you with a frown.
    But please remember, it's not over.
    It can't be, because some friendships do last forever.
    All it takes is a pinch of patience and that extra effort,
    To restore the magic and restrengthen that knot.

    So pick your pen, let your fingers embrace and light her spirit.
    Do not forget to nurture the crumpled parts of the paper when you meet.
    Let them know that it's tough when they are not there,
    Be a little more honest today. All that you have been holding up, come on! Please share.
    You know how sensitive the pen is,
    Her tears would roll down hearing you talk like this,
    But the paper will wipe them away as always,
    And before you realise, you would have sorted all the mess.
    ©anuradha2212

  • rhythmic_beats 2d

    Dear all,
    Don't scold writer's block as the mind is trafficked by the neurons as they have lost their way to destination. But that doesn't mean they have stopped their efforts! They are just waiting for the green signal of neurotransmitters to fuel them the neurons again by the warmth of heart.

    What does a cold paralysed mind wants at last? A heart's warm hug full of love taking them again to their destination but this time not as a writer, but as a traveller to holidays! Don't they need a vacation? Don't they need to treasure the moments and weave them with memories to cover your pages with warm sweaters of words as pages were blank shivering in the blankness of the mind?

    Let writer's block travel the road not taken and come back again with bunch of gifts to decorate the pages again but with some newly brewed contents. Soul is home of writing, how will she deny the arrival of her child if once he is stuck with writer's block? After all soul also needs a kiss which is much more happier than yesterday. After all soul needs her child to see matured through learning that, the pauses in life are only temporary if you are willing to see the radiating sun again.

    Writer's block: bittersweet frozen mind shivering in the Northern Pole's December,
    Words get trafficked in the pine trees
    Covering it like snow, waiting for green signal
    To fall on pages like snowflakes.
    See writer's block is so childish yet
    Full of hope, gradually flows rhythmically,
    Singing carols hoping celebration like Christmas.

    See how melodiously the pages are welcoming spring and the forest to embrace the green with fragrant flowers of poetries again.

    © rhythmic_beats

    Image: Instagram

    Will read you all tomorrow...busy with my lovely headache ����

    #lame
    #letter #writersblock #bittersweet #wod #life
    #rhythmic_beats #mirakee
    Thank you @writersnetwork "♥️"

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    Writer's block: bittersweet frozen mind shivering in the Northern Pole's December,
    Words get trafficked in the pine trees
    Covering it like snow, waiting for green signal
    To fall on pages like snowflakes.
    See writer's block is so childish yet
    Full of hope, gradually flows rhythmically,
    Singing carols hoping celebration like Christmas.
    ©rhythmic_beats

  • shivangij 2d

    Initiate thinking when words are not there

    Well, sometimes I have feeling,
    something different,

    Where I felt short of words in writing,
    Or have nothing to pen down at

    I see something online like film with feeling,
    Which can deeply strike my heart

    I sometimes do threat thing,
    Which initially leads to grow at

    The words and start framing,
    Yeah, I fail twice or ten times at

    But I never give up looking,
    At the previous writings I wrote once with heart

    And so I can just never give up writing,
    Felt that there is no words to write at

    Just find a hope of light lightning
    Your inner writer and start framing words at.
    ©shivangij

  • _transient 2d

    Crossroad had a sign board.
    Right was for greenery,
    left was a marsh.
    A child had seen green a lot,
    wanted to know what dirt was.

    Taking left, he rushed towards the clamour.
    It was night-like, maintained a fervour.
    The little one never had this kind of episode.
    He liked the ambience but knew it can't be an abode.

    At the swamp, there was a danger mark,
    with a skull and two bones.
    He didn't dive in,
    albeit an efflux to confess filled his gut.

    "Yes, I broke the vase, because I don't like flowers, no more", he bursted into tears.

    A spur of the moment heard this.
    Disguised as an uproar it said,
    "This is abyss my friend and you've never been so close".

    "But, I came for the quagmire because of reason, I know not", said the boy, wiping his frustration.

    "When you chose left, were you trying to be lost or were you looking for nothing but a different realm?", asked the screeching tone.

    "I guess so", the child nodded.

    "What did you do on seeing the danger mark?", the voice asked.

    "It made me confess, it made me weep, it made me..", the boy felt a bit lighter as he said this.

    "Then, my work is done and you don't need to be low.
    Somedays, you can walk up here, spill it all out and throw in this marsh. They call it writer's block and you're a writer. It is on the left of the crossroad. And you know, there's always a way out.", the voice consoled.

    ©_transient
    #letter @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Pic credit: internet

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    Writer's block

  • _jewelskhan7 2d

    I'm so happy I got such a polished bg color-��
    #letter #wod #writersnetwork

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    To the writers of mirakee,

    You're here because you can't write, right?

    You sit down by your bedside, pendulating your legs to and fro, waiting for an array of words to sashay down your fumes of fancy from that flimsy doorway you've fabricated out for them.

    Or perhaps, you're slouching along the rose window, from where the skylight floods into your white-walled room; bathing everything inside with golden rain.

    You want to write about the chartreuse like leaves that sway and swing with the hym of the breeze and part away from the trees, that was once their home.

    You want to write about the iridescent sky and it's ever changing hues, from it's burning pink to it's raven wings and how it's hem wraps the sapphire sea only to dive into the horizon.

    You want to write about the warm yellows that dances on the reflecting streams, as you catch the ripples racing one another, to immerse in the glass like water before the other.

    You want to write about the sonder that swallows you in a whole, allowing you to sieve the chest of a being only to reveal the ecstasy of their own zest and zeal, their lapse and qualms, their victories and defeats which they fold in their squirrel cage stringed to another and other and many more you would be oblivious of.

    But then, when you hold the pen, it taps your lips more than it scratches the paper.

    For all the words that you collected in a row disperses into the thick zephyr that stole the leaves from the trees.

    The rhymes you replayed in your head now flies like moss in the air to become one with the clouds and eventually, merge with the golden sunset by the horizon.

    Your verses are lost like the beams of sun over the vast stream of your emptiness and takes lead in melting away into the current, mocking defeat to the pacing ripples.

    But like the strongest of storms, this too, shall pass.

    It is only when you stop writing for yourself, is when you lose your control over words. You are ruled by what others want to read and suppresses your druthers to mould them in what others want to view.

    That, my darling, is when your gift of noticing the most critical of details, is seized from you.
    That, my darling, is when you're no more a writer.

    Writing had always varied from authors to authors, poets to poets and so on. That was, because of the diverseness in the backgrounds of the pen-holders.
    Sure, get inspired; there's no stopping in that- but becoming a whole unrecognizable wordsmith a fistful of audience wants to applaud at, is a heck new level of absurdity.

    But you can't write anything? Okay.

    This is where mother nature comes knocking at your venetian blind, to urge you to see past just random clouds and grounds. Being a writer, one must realize the power they can make the words hold and carry in a dulcet manner.
    Like, why do you need to say- the sun came out shining just like that? Make the sky your stage, and put the stage on fire! Burn the clouds and make them weep and then add some light sprinkles of colors and call it 'rainbows' :)
    Make the sun flirt with the moon, and the sky blush into a pink rogue. Make the stars race wild on the tracks of wanderlust.

    Run your imagination.

    Think.

    Write.

    Because words starts to flood;
    when you open that cap of your pen.

    ©jewelskhan7

  • sharmee_m 37w

    25/07/2020
    I always make sure that I have no punctuation errors, no grammar slip ups, but today I am dropping this here to let myself see that I can be flawed and still be beautiful.��
    #wod #letter

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    I dont know why I stopped writing?
    I have always been like this, I dig a well for water and just before my shovel would hit the earth that would make the water shoot up like fountain, I give up.
    I mean, do I run away or just get indifferent?
    I am a person who can never accept defeat, who locks her up in a bathroom and screams silently wetting my face with the tears that go off like a faucet that's broken, when a certain thing dont go my way, when I cant overcome my writer's block, in this case.
    I open my notepad several times and beg the keyboard to help me form something even remotely good as what I used to do before.
    I google "topics for poetry" and loved, just loved all the suggestions, but simply couldnt put down two perfectly rhymed verses.
    I read books, hell, so many of them, I try to make myself remember those good old days when I could write about anything under the sun.
    I tried and am trying still to find the inspiration to type until my hands giveaway, but my mind would still keep pouring words and sentences in the most rational manner that I expect from it.
    A wise friend told me- "You worry about others, just dont. You might flourish."
    And that hit me hard like a sudden shower from the clouds.
    Maybe it's time to write for my own self.
    Maybe it's that time now when I should learn to accept my obstacles and buckle up to jump high over them and face the sunlight with a smile wider than any rainbow in the sky.

  • sharmee_m 74w

    11/11

    I couldn't gear up the courage to give a title to this ranting because I am afraid, the post will be ignored. So umm, at the bottom it is! ��
    Just had a realization, 'never leave the words alone for a long time, or they get real mad at you'.
    True story, guys!
    #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #wod #letter #pod

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    Unnamed and Untitled

    I want to write something.
    So badly.
    But the words are upset with me.
    They seem to taunt me.
    Challenging me to write down what I am actually thinking.
    Mocking me for forgetting them for a while longer than expected.
    I took the seat on my desk besides the open window.
    The cool breeze nuzzled in my hair and the wintery smell soothed the numb writer's head.

    I grabbed my favourite pen and flipped open my favourite journal.
    But then my thoughts ran away from me.
    My heart prompted me to write about dusk and dawn, to debate whether they fight or sychronize!
    But my mind flashed images of candy floss and lavenders, tempting me to poetize!

    I made a list of things, which the writer in me needs me to write about -

    1. candy floss and lavenders (maybe also unicorns, now that we are at it)
    2. dusk and dawn
    3. poetry
    4. Mind over heart (the reality)
    5. wintery smell or winter
    6. wind in the hair or cool breeze
    7. ...
    8. ...

    The titles won't even agree with me and that's when I realized it's bad, worse than the last time I had this disorder. It is here to get me AGAIN. I took my head in my hands and pinched the bridge of my nose. I knew I am going to be that writer who writes on the same topic again and again, until my name is lost in the labyrinth I carved for myself.

    However, I do not wish to be that writer who gives up on the passion, on the words and the effortless rhymes and harmony that they produce when they're real cooperative.
    I certainly won't call quits on the account of a few miserable days, for a lifetime of happiness, that I find only amidst my words and thoughts, around my pen and pages (also the notepad application on my phone or MS-Word on the laptop).

    Determined, I scratched the list and gave a title to a fresh page - WRITER'S BLOCK!

    ©sharmee_m

  • sharmee_m 81w

    23/09

    I think it's struck, hasn't it? Ugh! I feel ridiculous checking on a writer's block every single moment!

    P.S.: I am sorry for not being able to check all your lovely posts. I plan to ASAP! ❤️��

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @writerstolli @readwriteunite @writersbureau #writersblock #wod #pod #letter

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    Writer's Block

    Where do words go during a writer's block?
    The breeze blows and whispers poems in my ears
    Cacophony of rustling leaves sings me melodies
    I feel the sunrays caress my face with affection
    The full moon blows kisses to me as I bask in its calmness
    My mind is numb and distant nevertheless
    I sit with a pen in a meadow of thoughts
    Thoughts that have their chains broken
    Their strings ripped and torn
    The verses flying far away from my grasp
    The rhymes out of their usual harmony
    I sit silently looking at the butterflies
    Still I find no words rhyming with their colorful wings
    I hum a song that I heard on the radio
    Yet no tune matches with the lyrics I scribble
    I read my old poems and wonder how I managed rhyming those
    While I am unable to even think of a title
    Afraid, panicked I look at the pile of torn papers
    That contain my futile attempts to find myself again

    Where do words go during a writer's block?
    I search under the stars and the shadows
    Sunshine and midnight
    Amongst thickets and forestry
    Between victories and give ups
    Around people and their stories
    Where do words go during a writer's block?

    I surrender after a sequence of words go all wrong
    I accept my fate
    When the only thing that is supposed to keep me sane, drives me insane
    When words take an exile and leave me all alone in a world full of chaos
    When the rusted mind wins over the still poetic heart!

    ©sharmee_m