fiction and poetry

King of the Hill

Throw away your tantrums,
lock way your fears,
kill the old you
gut the insecurity  out of it,
relish the laughter
and echoes of what people said
anout you once

then run for the hill
you always wanted.
tread barefooted
let it bleed
walk alone
don’t make yourself a cripple
fall a hundred times
and cry your misery out

look for the hill
conquer it
or die at the summit
valiantly at least

 

 

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fiction&writing

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.

 

 

 

 

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