Away from the world of lights and concrete,

I hide in the original jungle.

More bark than walls, more green than grey,

In this fair land I’ll stay.


For in the bright city

My bones grow weak and weary.

The noises don’t let me sleep at night,

The bright lights hurt my eyes.


But here there’s just silence

Infinite and unnerving, at times.

Here I can find all my bruises,

I can heal them in the night.


The night, when the city churns papers

Of ink black and white.

I wake up to piping hot tea,

With horror stories on the side.


Poets before me have sung

High praises of the tropical sun.

The lush green trees, the tempestuous breeze,

Are my reprieve from the city.


Yes here I lie, and here I’ll stay

As the world threatens to burn away.

Away from the cruelties of mankind

I’ll stay safe in my fantasy land.


Seaside Musings

Here I sit on uneven land, sand sticking to my thighs,

Hair blowing back in the forceful wind, something stirring deep within.

The sand lies white and warm, lazily stretching out for miles,

Impervious to the periodical whipping of water cold as ice.

I look far out into the sea, look as far as my eyes can go,

And count the waves as they come nearer, threatening to swallow me whole.

The sun is shining a little too bright, burning with white hot fury,

And in the tumultuous sea I see, the rage burning inside of me.

You see, the sea is me, with its depth and chaos and uncertainty,

Crashing itself upon shores unknown.

Forever still, never at home.

Writing About Writing

So I’ve started a Blogging U course for some regular doses of inspiration, and to force myself to write more often. Now I know writing is something that should flow naturally, but after a hectic workday, where all you do is write, it’s quite difficult to come home and do more of the same. But the woes of adult life are meant for another post at another time.

Today’s cue is to write about why I write. I have already written an article a few years ago on how I began writing in the first place, and you can find it here. This one is more of a ‘what I feel about writing’ post. Happy reading!

I write because I like to spell out my thoughts; to arrange them into patterns and give them meaning beyond the tangled web of my mind.

I like how words and sentences appear on a blank space; long and short, simple and complex, created using simple curves and strokes. How a simple word or phrase can make you see images that have nothing, yet everything to do with the image in front of our eyes.

Writing is like drawing, our words having much more meaning that what first appears to the eye.

Writing is like composing music; our words rising and falling rhythmically, stringing sounds together to form a melody.

Writing is like cooking; we either just know what words to bring together to create that favorite age old recipe, or we experiment with new words, new flavors, new textures, and create something completely different. Either way, it’s not the ingredients that matter, but how they’re brought together.

For me, writing is escape and reconciliation, pensive and emotional, tiring and rejuvenating, simple and complex.

I write because I have to. I write because I can.