The Choice

They say this is where inspiration comes to die. Past the dreaded deadline, not a soul has ever made it. One after another they all went into a bottomless pit.. I asked myself, “Dear heart, what about you? Has all this hassle left you down and blue?” Fear not for there is always a choice. Venture out to tread new waters or go over the line another undead carcass. All of life spent in a philosophical stride only to end in literary suicide. Perhaps there is a way, another way. I could be the one to learn the trade and still stay in touch with reality and keep my soul. What if I could actually pull off inventing that role?

© Abirami

Unfinished Drafts

He fills up my drafts

Unfinished thoughts that haunt my soul.

They drift around in an ocean of their likeness

Waiting to be turned into masterpieces of perfection. 

Blinding flashes of joy and nerve wrecking misery,

All wedged into flimsy pieces of paper.

I stand in the eye of the hurricane.

My storm of endless musing,

The bittersweet catastrophe of my choosing. 

© Abirami 

What kind of a writer am I? 

What kind of a writer am I,

If all I can write about is love or hate.

What kind of a writer am I,

If rhymes are the deciding factor of my fate. 

What kind of a writer am I,

If truth is my prominent style.

What kind of a writer am I,

If nothing I write makes it seem worthwhile. 

What kind of a writer am I,

If my choices are the roads less travelled by

What kind of a writer am I,

If I knew the darkest corners of the world but had to ask you,

“Who am I?” 

– The Obsessive writer.

© Abirami

The Typewriter 

Y O U.

Every morning, she found the same three letters etched onto the piece of paper on her dusty old type writer. 

The presence was too big to ignore. She felt it. In the air. Something calling out to her…

Another writer with a busy life. She was torn in between making a living and wanting to live. 

© Abirami 

Love Letter

She recollected the contents of the note: she left on his desk, earlier that morning. 

It wasn’t 

Your eyes, 

Your smile,

Or your personality. 

I fell for the way you made me feel safe in the heart of a raging storm. 

-XOXO

P.S. You can keep that heart, you stole. 

 

Seven years later, he framed it for their anniversary. 

© Abirami

To be a Writer…

All it takes is a feeling. A kiss that sends you reeling. The smell of the rain or the music that momentarily takes away your pain. Every where you look there lies an untold story. So, keep an eye out for the poetry. It’s not always pretty. Not if you want reality. The truth doesn’t have to rhyme. What has to be said, needs to be said when it’s time. Those demons on your shoulder, they will tell you,

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You can’t”

“You won’t”

“Don’t”

Flick them off and keep writing anyway. 

© Abirami