There are no words

The more words one uses

The fewer he knows

Because the great muses

Give just one doze.

The secret to writing

Is the reverse of it,

More akin to lightning,

Kept short and sweet.

Silence makes rhymes

Better than sounds

And poets know times

Outside their bounds.

It takes talent really

To learn to stay still,

Words given freely

To the blood of the quill.

What leaves you mute

Should be strived towards –

On creation’s true route

There are no words.

Organic growth

Storytelling is an integral part of nature.
Writing is an organic kind of growth,
Nurtured by bits and pieces of surroundings,
Its water and sun and fertile soil.
It repurposes experiences to be made,
And lets itself enter the cycle,
Be consumed and provide nourishment
To other minds for further writing.
It’s a tree that forgets to run out of fruit,
The same seeds planted again and again,
Each time bearing slightly different shoots,
And making beautiful natural hybrids.
The inspiration may ebb and flow,
Another cycle to mirror moon phases perhaps,
But it’s never quite gone. Maybe repurposed,
A type of water’s circuit through nature –
A writer’s writing, a writer’s reading,
And a writer’s simply living his life.
There are times when one takes over others
But it just shapes the original crystals
And pours back into one’s expression of art
When it returns to its fluid, nurturing state.
Writing is growth, and always will be.
Perhaps that’s why nature makes its way
Quite so often into bits of poetry.
Maybe they match, two sides of the same coin
Growing together and from one another.

Letter across time

Imagine two points in time,
A past and a future,
A younger and an older you.
You are allowed to send one letter
But only in one direction.
Which do you choose?
Funny enough, I think I’d rather
Do the one that doesn’t
Contradict the laws of nature.
I’d rather hear from my past
Than have to write to it.
What would I write, anyway?
I can’t tell her my accomplishments –
The path one should follow
Is not a decision you are allowed
To take from someone, even yourself.
I’d rather, instead, listen
To the way I used to think,
Have the glasses to look at the world
In such a way as to make it
Make a different kind of sense.
I change every day,
And I want to remember
How exactly I used to be and why,
To chuckle at my naivety
And breathe in the melancholy
Of all the road that’s already passed.
Whichever direction it goes, though
I think there’s only one thing
That I’d absolutely need to hear.
‘It’s fine. You’re happy.
I’m proud of who you are.’
Because even across time,
Past the limit of my memory,
Or glimpsing into a distant future,
I know this is the case.
Because it’s up to me to be.


Which way would you rather your letter go?

A to Z April Challenge – Reflections

The A to Z Challenge asked participants to write posts throughout April, so that every day (aside from non-initial Sundays) would be based on themes starting with the corresponding letter (A on April 1st, B on April 2nd, etc.). I took part and completed the challenge, and now it’s reflections day!

A week has passed since April,
Between now and the end
of the alphabetic Challenge.
It was Definitely amazing,
Everything pushing me
to Find the determination
to write the Greatest poems
I never knew I Had.
I am so happy I took part,
even if Just for the fun
and the amazing Kick it gave.
I’d obviously Like, though
to see if it will also bring More
Numbers to by blog.
And Onwards to next year,
I definitely Plan to do it again –
if only it would come Quicker!
And this time Round
maybe I’ll take after Some
of the Terrific people I met
and Use it to push myself more.
Maybe instead of this Variation
I’ll try to Write on a theme,
make it a bit more Xtreme.
And… I’d be so happy if all of You
Will still be here for next year’s Zoo!

See what I did there? 🙂

Joke aside, I absolutely loved the challenge, and I was quite surprised at myself that I actually managed to keep up with writing a whole poem in a day, every day (Funny enough, I actually wrote a poem on this very theme yesterday – check it out here), and I hope I’ll be able to keep up the habit even without a challenge to fuel me on. I tried to think if I have a favourite between my writings but, interesting enough, despite the process that sometimes felt rushed, I absolutely love all of them and wouldn’t change a single thing. Maybe not everything about them is perfect, but I put a piece of my soul in each, and this is what I think poetry should be about. You can find them in the menu, under ‘A-to-Z April Challenge’ if you hadn’t yet and want to take a look. Thank you in advance!

I didn’t quite have the time to check out too many blogs that participated in the challenge, and I apologise for that, but I plan on doing the Road Trip (going through blogs and seeing the posts after the challenge closes for the year). Even so, I saw some brilliant posts and followed, and was followed in return by some really talented writers because of this. Thank you so much everybody for the support/comments/inspiration!

As I said, I definitely plan on doing this again next year (and hopefully find the Master list in due time and actually sign up properly). Hope you guys will enjoy the posts then too, and hopefully the ones before next April as well 🙂 For everybody who took part, you’re awesome, congratulations! (Everybody who reads my posts is awesome, obviously, but they are just slightly more in this regard only.) If you didn’t, I’d definitely recommend it for next year, it’s really great fun, and you might surprise yourself with what you come up. Lastly, even if you don’t, consider checking out the Master list and Daily lists ( of those who did take part, there are amazing blogs and people out there waiting to be discovered.

Long post today, I know. But I’m done now! Love you all, and thank you for reading my blog.

Daily writing

I have written now for a while,
Day after day without pause.
I always knew that writing
Was to the cup that held my soul
The bowl that would capture the spills
And feed back into the waterfall
To keep me spinning the wheel.
But daily writing is something else,
There’s a special freedom to it,
A quality to the mere quantity.
Instead of worrying for a subject,
After a while, this has become
Just sitting down to compose
And letting my mind hook
Onto the most relevant topic.
Every day, it gets to choose
One thing to purge away from me,
Or one beautiful thought to share.
And I end up lighter of worries
And fuller of brighter things,
My poems prayers to the universe,
A grounding I have missed.
I think I forgot how this goes before,
Because it’s not about talent,
It’s not even about creativity.
It’s the simple joy of writing,
The primordial feeling
Of letting go and floating
In the amniotic fluid of your choice.
It’s just about freedom.


Spin the globe and let’s see where we start
I’m eager to see, to hear, to learn.
Show me snow-capped mountains
Off the walls of hidden towers,
Help me climb the ancient trees
Whose flavours I never encountered,
Clad in clothes I never touched,
My belly full of flavours
I never knew could be cooked.
Teach me the languages of the world,
Of the past, present and future,
So many of them that I learn instead
To understand the language of silence,
Of the breaths and heartbeats
That hide between the lyrical sounds.
Bring me down to the meadows and rivers,
Let me kneel in front of the gods
Whose names history itself forgot
And laugh in the face of their judgments,
Hidden beneath the armour of cultures
That long predate their creation.
Lay me down on the grass, on the stone,
On the rubbery, broken streets of the world,
And let me learn in the depths of your eyes
The name and position of new constellations.
Yes. Show me so much the Heavens above
And the Hells below give up chasing after,
Until we know all of this world and,
Still hungry, always hungry, we sneak
Through the cracks of reality,
Like all writer, all readers before us,
Go savour and bask in new images,
New sounds, new feels, new tastes,
And then go create some more.
Lifetimes are never enough to satisfy
A love of foreign as deep as ours.

Shades of Grey

If stars and skies were to change place
To form a day with drops of lace,
Like sun in crystal drops of rain
Easing ground of heating pain,
There’s still be to interchange
Forces, two, to keep in range.
It’d be kept in white and black,
Switching forth or switching back.

But when they drop both lines and rules,
Drop and grab the force that pulls,
Step towards the grey outside,
Get themselves into the tide
Of a whole of friends and trust,
That’s when limits turn to dust,
Whites and blacks do get to mingle,
And there stands just grey left single.

This is what forms reality,
Not the shaded clarity,
Light and dark in proper spot,
Dry and wet, and cool and hot.
There’s no truth and no mistake
For they mingle when they shake.
We let go so we all win.
Sorrow’s joy long hidden twin.

The List

I’ve heard so many claim my soul is so shallow:
That I am but a shell to ring of hollow.
Those saying this I bid to try and peel
Away each set of lie to free the real.
So now I quit my sharp and dear pencil,
Shove away talent, let’s look at what’s essential.
Please, peel away the image of my looks,
Who cares of a body? I’ve got much better books.
Feel free to take away the vastness of my friends,
As none can think of friendship it starts and never ends.
Did my sharp eyes and concentrated being,
Strike you like something you’ve never been so seeing?
But please proceed and take it all away
For what counts knowledge when life would turn its way?
Might I have startled people with my sudden laugh?
Sometimes my twisty jokes could turn into a gaffe.
So cross away yet further my sharp and witty humour,
It’s anyway at taste of many a consumer.
I’m sure you will protest also at my assurance.
I will let go. Who knows of its recurrence.
And from now further I just might do well
In telling between truth and what men tell.
I’m left with just the love, and ever-lasting goodness.
But I could never stand to see your bitterness,
So I won’t breathe a word. Keep going, my sweet dolly.
And modesty? But please. I’m sure you think it’s folly.
And now comes the nice question: what is left?
Yes, some of you ignore those all, ignore their theft,
And claim I have an answer just to prove them wrong.
I’m asking you, is all this fair, cutting miles long
Of character they couldn’t fill with their little lives.
But I won’t lower to judge them; for just the high survives.
And, yes. Oh, how I love the shock. Yes, I do have the answer.
Stripped of whole me, like I’ve been sick of cancer,
There is still me: still starry eyes and love,
My inner child, that you couldn’t shove.
I’ve seen around how you lose him, his pretty smile
In your rush for power and strong wit and style.
I don’t let go. And if by list I don’t prove better,
This no one can surpass, even by just a letter.
I beg your pardon. You were asking? Who I am? How dare I?
But you? You beast. You selfish traitor. You just try,
For I can handle. But I warn, I’ll turn the question
And let’s see how your list looks at the great confession.
You tremble? My dear, I haven’t yet got started.
So better smile, nod, and it’s time we parted.

The Best Compliment

People don’t understand why I sometimes smile
When others go past ignoring me,
Or even outright roll their eyes.
People who don’t like me or don’t care.
And I’m smiling like I received the best compliment.

I smile because I did – because some of them,
No matter how they pass me by without a glance,
Stop in their tracks, shush their friends,
Put their busy, important lives on hold
When they see one of my stories unfold.

There’s no better compliment for a writer –
Indeed, nothing that comes even close,
Because that’s what makes us actually writers.
Putting words so strong on the paper
That they stop being ours and become their own.

People will read my lines
Regardless of me, in spite of me sometimes.
And it will be the best possible compliment.
Because the only thing that that tells me
Is that my words. Are worth it.


The whole world could be composed
Of a one and only letter
Though it might have been supposed
It was made of mind and matter.

Words to last upon the page
Of the new of day and age.
They could keep locked up a giant,
No matter harsh or defiant.

Letters written are some relics
Of the forces that are working,
Shells forgotten in high attics
When around so much is lurking.

Mind and matter, two in one,
There’s a moon to never wan,
Letters to compose the sky
From the start, and never shy.

Mind the power that they hold
Lining one by one on files.
They will say what they were told,
Passing time and passing trials.