Exploring the magic of words…
Dots. Ink blots.
Letters. Connections.
Words. Meanings.
Sentences. Feelings.
Endings. Beginnings.
Stormy skies. Calm oceans.
Gentleness. Explosions.
Brown. Yellow.
Autumn. Spring.
Buds. Flowers.
Nothing. Everything.
Stories. Songs.
Here. There.
Quiet. Bright.
Smiles. Laughs.
Dimmers. Spotlights.
Fingertips. Palms.
Smoke. Touch.
Breath. Life.
So little. So much.
An. The.
Me. You.
~Diksha
At dawn, our lovelorn eyes meet;
Can you hear my raging heartbeat?
In a misty room, we pass each other,
And yet, as Fate would have it –
Miles apart from each other.
With Clouded emotions
And a heavy sense of duty,
We part, while the light
Masks your ethereal beauty.
Morning changes to noon
And noon to evening,
While I toy with the idea
Of a clandestine meeting.
The Children wouldn’t see
And Mother wouldn’t know;
Soft, pearly curtains shall be
The lone spectators to the show.
My heart hammers again,
And I let my heart fill with fascination
As I think of the scandalous contrast
Your calm’d be to my desperation.
You are the eternal glow
That melts the heart of many;
While I, the destroyer
Cannot look into the eyes of any.
And so I wait
As you appear at dusk again
Floating amongst the clouds
With your usual nightly brigade.
Your twinkling comrades
Surround you protectively;
And like an embarrassed lover,
Without a word, I flee.
Sleep eludes me
As I pace in frustration,
And stare at you longingly,
Battling an age-old sensation.
But Fate never meant
For us to be together;
So we can do little but lament –
Be star crossed forever.
And so at dawn again,
Our eyes shall meet;
And I shall wonder again
If you can hear my heartbeat.
In a misty room,
We’ll pass each other;
And yet, like always,
Miles apart from one another.
~Diksha
I like to watch the clouds.
And not just because of the shapes:
Cottony characters, creatures and the
Fancies of those lazy days.
Not because of the aura
Of the sun that peeks
From between the curtains
In lovely orange streaks.`
Not because they’re moving
Forever ahead;
Without a care in the world:
No joy, no dread.
And certainly not because
Their colossal aspect
Reminds me of my own triviality
And fills me with respect.
I watch the clouds because
They fill me with fascination
For sharing with so many others
The beauty of creation.
And because it reminds me of my part
In this beautiful manifestation
Of God’s divine art
And fills me with elation.
~Diksha
First glance.
Knee-jerk:
From his gaze, she must shirk.
Second exchange.
Still scared:
She would not be ensnared.
Third day.
Doubt grows:
To every stranger, a little trust she owes.
Fourth look.
Hesitant smile:
He seems like a friend for a while..
Fifth time.
Say hi:
He has to be a nice guy.
Sixth smile.
Tainted touch:
She flees from the hands that clutch.
Seventh hell.
Weapon ready:
She approaches their spot with resolve unsteady.
Eighth day.
No show:
Her attacker has left her to her woe.
Ninth year.
Undying plea:
Someone peel off the skin where he touched me.
Tenth time.
Opens mouth:
But still feels dirty and uncouth.
Eleventh stranger.
Unending distrust:
Every man is guided by lust.
Twelfth night.
Sleepless eyes:
I will not rest until he dies.
~Diksha
The run down, black, metal gate stood broken on its hinges, allowing us only a narrow passage to pass through the premises of the deserted school campus. Right before us was an old marble sculpture, its detailed features were blunted in many places but the kindly visage of the woman was still clear in the stone.
Moving along the old corridor that ran to the left of the sculpture, we reached the very last room. The two windows with the broken fiber glass panes gave us a partial view of a dusty classroom through the metal grills with chipped black paint. Pushing open the wooden doors, we carefully stepped inside.
Old wooden armchairs crowded the place, termite eating at their shaky, squeaky legs. Some chairs lay overturned on the floor and some stood with broken armrests.
Numerous beams of the cheerful sunlight had lit up the depressing room with our entrance. The dust particles we had unsettled were floating about in the brightness. Coughing slightly, we examined the chamber.
The floor was barely visible beneath the thick layer of dirt that had accumulated over the centuries. Intricate cobwebs adorned the silent fans and bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Rotting boards hung askew along two of the walls, the green cloth covering almost entirely eaten by worms.
Along the front wall of the classroom were two wooden cupboards, one of which had a tiny, old lock hanging from its latch. Between the two cupboards hung a majestic green chalkboard, its slate rotting away like the rest of the furniture in the room. On the floor in front of the chalkboard, an old security camera lay with a withered old sock covering its glassy eye.
All around the clothed camera lay dusty, half decayed pieces of paper, all displaying a uniform message, ‘Adieu XII – B!’. All over the room, we found other papers full of doodles made during mindless chatter, silly drawings singing of the abandon of youth and emotionless goodbyes punctuated with a hope to keep in touch.
The room which stank of decay and time was enclosed by walls which were alive with memories.
As I looked around the broken chairs once again, dozens of carefree schoolgirls grinned at me, thrilled that they had been discovered at last.
~Diksha
When Lucifer falls from heaven,
And the Fruit is bit in Eden.
When Cain kills brother Abel,
And when God’s voice turns to fable.
When man surrenders to envy,
And anger, greed and proud frenzy.
Thenceforth shall man’s doom be writ,
And the Path of Salvation lit.
Cross the Tunnel towards the light,
The Quest shall end in sweet respite!
~Diksha
In the Noble House of Black,
You’ll be welcomed with taunts and shrieks
And slave heads shall greet you from the rack,
In the Noble House of Black.
For hiding secrets, its walls have a knack,
So be careful when a wooden step creaks.
In the Noble House of Black,
You’ll be welcomed with taunts and shrieks.
~Diksha
Are you one of those brave writers attempting to write a novel this November?
Hola! You’re doing a great job! (Somebody had to say it
This post is for all you little soldiers of words! I have selected these quotes specifically to help you rejuvenate yourself as you take a much deserved break from the writing or to encourage you to write if you have been procrastinating!
(But, of course, motivation is necessary even for the regular writer! So NaNoWriMo or no, dive into the inspiration that follows! xD )
You are the magic. For you create something out of nothing! You are the god of your own world. Be fearless! Nothing can stop you there.
Your own words are your best guiding light! Nobody can tell you where your character is gonna land up. Apart from you!
Everybody is unique. And so is their story. Never look into your neighbour’s notebook and feel sad about your own! Because their notebook doesn’t have one important thing. You.
This one just speaks for itself, really! ❤
Remember, November is for writing! Don’t look back on the last chapter (or paragraph… or sentence!). Write! You have eons to edit your work!
Listen to your gut. Write what you believe in. Your story is amazing! And so are you… ❤
Aren’t we all guilty of suddenly exclaiming aloud when we find just the right word to turn a sentence into a god-like manifestation of our literary genius?
Or giggling devilishly in public as we write the Plot Twist of all plot twists?
Or cry as we write an emotional scene?
We’ve all been there, done that!
Unless… You haven’t?
In which case, my friend, you haven’t felt your writing properly yet…
And I can only say this to you…
Feel. Embrace. Be crazy.
Be a Writer!
~Diksha
Oh! Fire…
A dancing flame,
Shapeless
Speechless
Mesmerising
Powerful
With no beginning
And no end.
An ancient song
She sways to;
Slow, lithe, graceful,
Exuding joy,
Consuming grief –
Her immortal light
An elegant gleam.
A Writer's Cauldron 