I woke up to the
heavy moans
to the lights red
as wine.
she took a deep breath
under my ear
guided my hands
to the price
and told me with her hazel eyes
Love, let me make you alright.
sure as hell
she wasn’t lying
she became the moment
and the moment was mine.
“Say my name”
and all I could say was a smile
dammit, I forgot it again
let’s just call you Hyde
for this little while.
Here’s what I told them:
That’s a good question. I feel this is what everyone struggles with at some point. I know I did. There’s always going to be times when you just sit down to write and nothing comes out on the paper. And we always wonder where and what is our inspiration.
I’m gonna tell you something different here. Inspiration is not real. That one moment when you have the brilliant idea about what to write doesn’t happen in reality. Or it’s way rare than people think it is. Your only inspiration to write should be your why. Why do you wanna write? Why did you start in the first place? That’s it. It’s your why.
Let me give you an example. I started writing long time ago, but I was the most irregular writer ever. And that’s bad. I never knew if I was good or not because I was afraid to show it to anyone. And that made me not wanna continue writing and leave it as just another hobby. But then I thought why I wanna do it. And my why is because where I’m from, no one thinks you can be a writer. No one I knew for a long time ever had a book published. And I know how much of a difference few words can make in someone’s lives. So I told myself, that’s my why. And I kept writing and writing and in few years, I was able to develop this habit of doing it every day even if I don’t feel “inspired” enough.
Make it a habit. Write regularly and put it out in front of people. They decide if you’re good or not. Always. And once you start doing this, you’ll see the magic happen. You won’t need inspiration because that one poem you wrote and someone left a comment on it saying “I really needed this today. Please never stop writing.” That’ll be your lifetime inspiration.
the familiar jazz
of lips, and hands
held tight. we sway
through this theme as
the stolen light
of this night.
falling apart like
sky, do not apologize
for change, you are
nature without
curtains.
in the face of naked
you hide your pieces
but your truth is
softer when we
winter.
like every line we
color, we can hear
each other’s song
and hold, the way
fingers grip a match
till it gasps into the dark
and they can hold the
flame
no long.
I like
the idea of
sipping in
your scents of
amber, and
lime
while I
soak the bitters
of your controlled
desires
climbing slowly
down your lips
hide you away
in my secret recipe
and turn your
secrets into a
private delicacy.
i am
black, and
exact.
no notions.
no mist.
no hail.
no judgement.
just plain, ol’
black.
whatever i hear
i swallow.
the same moment.
just as it is,
unmisted.
and parked her car
outside the city limits.
hung her muggy smile
along the dapper greens.
placed her bets on the naked
men shocked with the scenes.
sunk deep within the
core of the sidewalks.
while she swept your warmth
out with her crisp talks.
the winter came in today
but so did you.
so many to explore
so little time
so many to taste,
with only one life.
“What do you want?”
I wondered, as I looked
right at the question.
I thought of many things
they never put on the menu.
like a job, a truck,
food, always more food,
a little gas money, an expensive guitar,
more open roads, less speed limits.
freedom.
time.
things they can’t give me.
“By the way, I like your hair.”
I’d rather take coffee than
compliments right now, I thought
to myself.
Just coffee, I replied.
“And how would you like it?”
Black – like my soul.
The feeling stuck, you mention, triggers a related topic to surface, which is that of “dating” and getting to know the “self” in order to determine what is sought and needed, even if the conclusions are moving targets just as we are moving targets as we grow wiser, considering we are dynamic creatures. The answers behind our search differ from when we are 16, 25, 39, 50, etc. And dating others cannot fill the void or circumvent the painful process of waking up the unconscious.
Facebook: @AakashWrites
Instagram: @aakash_tyagi
In case you don’t know about the book mentioned, check it out here. It’s pretty good.
I once wanted an escape and recharge myself like the monk who sold his Ferrari and be in nature, detox emotionally and physiologically. And read and blog.
I am in Sweden being the monk who sold her mopet and doing exactly what I wanted. Never give up on dreams but never wish for pain. The world has lot to offer in that field already
God bless!
Facebook: @AakashWrites
Instagram: @aakash_tyagi
Life in a blog 