A Utopia called Writing

The last time I came anywhere close to writing was in October, over a month and a half ago. I needed this break because I was concerned. I was concerned that writing kept me away from people. Because when I write, I sit alone with a pen and a paper and when I am not writing, I sit alone with my thoughts. I became so engrossed with thoughts that I started skipping my food and isolating myself to have that much needed peace.

So here I’m. I’m coming back home!

There was this great American (Yes, he is no more!) by the name Ernest Hemingway who once said, ‘There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is to sit at a typewriter and bleed’.

Frozen  thoughts haunting,

And unsaid words taunting,

As I clenched my pen,

To bleed.


The reality vanishing,

And my senses banishing,

As I clenched my pen,

To bleed.


The soul growing warm,

And my mind going numb,

As I clenched my pen,

To bleed.


The world becomes a shadow,

And its people, hollow,

As I clenched my pen,

To bleed.


Happiness rushing in,

And the tears gushing out,

As I clenched my pen,

To bleed.


To bleed my literal heart out.

The above is an attempt by the author to try and capture the emotions every writer experiences when sits down to write. No part of it has been reproduced from anywhere. 


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