Writer’s Block

At the very extreme undying urge of writing something, when words don’t make sense and passion starts eating me up,I hear my inner self preaching all valid reasons of why should I end this pitiful career.But then again if I would have heard my inner voice in glorious hours of writing something beyond purpose, I wouldn’t be having this block. Purpose simply defeats the act.Writing for a purpose is same as living for a purpose. The concentration slowly swings to purpose than on writing or living. So I don’t have a purpose today. The bird is out of my heart today. Let it chirp.





fiction and poetry, fiction&writing, Love, musings, Poems, Poetry, Prose, Writings


Left cold alone,
in a blanket nude,
lies my love singing,
waiting for you,

to watch me all night,
while i hold her again,
to kiss me everywhere,
to forget all pain,

I love her dearly,
but i have more mistresses too,
All willing to lie with me,
to see me through,

my shelves are full of them,
new ones come every month
only the smell remains same,
like books there is none.

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