DSC00294 self

I eat the brevity of moments
piece by piece
in irregular, circular motions
like the daunts of rain
the daunts of greys
with cerulean eye- dots.

These limbs are an array of woollen mouths
fragmented and ruffled,
in the moments of despair
in the moments of sunsets.

I conjure and swallow
all that occurred here,
in these moments of pain
in these moments of abortions,

Life romancing fatal nights,
a spider knitting a bridge of paradise
it clicks and time haunts the future.
And, I eat it all…moments.

©image and words- MVS


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The Magic Hourglass: The Writer’s Quest


The glass has been shattered, and the sand has run out. So, fellow writers, hear me out. Stop looking for the bauble that will make time flow within your palm like a river. It doesn’t exist. It never has.

”How do I find time for my writing?” people ask. ”You don’t find it,” I reply. ”You make it, for nobody will give it to you.” Not the most satisfactory answer, I suppose. But true nonetheless. When there’s a will, there’s a way. Family, friends, job, duties, they all swallow up big chunks from our life. In the end, we feel drained, our body devoid of energy, our mind languid.

But I wonder frequently. Do we use that as a shield? A convenient excuse so as not to come face to face with the fears and insecurities we experience regarding our craft? After all, it’s a safe route to walk upon in order to mollify ourselves at the prospect of failure and disappointment.

The productive, hard-working writers are not such because of luck and idleness. No, their achievements are the fruit of priority. If we truly wish to pen something worth reading, then we better make writing our priority. We shall not wait for time to land on our hands as if it’s our given right. No. We have to milk the days and the nights. We have to squeeze the seconds and the minutes like we squeeze the last drops out of a succulent orange.

Nobody said writers must sit down on their chair and write from dawn till dusk or else their are not real writers (wouldn’t that be a lovely though?). But if we want to pursue this professionally, then we better make the most of every opportunity that climbs up our lap. Half an hour in the morning, a quarter in the evening, twenty minutes before we slip into dreamland. That is more than enough.

Good writing isn’t finished overnight. It’s done word by word, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, chapter by chapter. All else is fiction (no pun intended). So, my fellow writers, stop seeking for that enchanted trinket that gifts people with everstreaming time. It’s as fruitful as Ponce de León‘s quest for the Fountain of Youth.