I am just ME … a soul streaming across constellations, over eons of turbulent changes and tranquil noises, perturbed by the visions that engulf me and ruffled by the oft complacence that challenges the change. Yet, I must travel further across the galaxies, in search of the ultimate metamorphosis. Until then, I sojourn in this life, engrossed in my earthly callings of a wife, mother, professional, writer, dreamer, and seeker.
On this blog you will find a spectrum of fiction, poetry, reviews, thoughts, snippets, inspiration, experiences, voices, concerns, excerpts, and everything that the soul has gathered in her fold, over years of reading, searching, finding, losing, and discovering. I regularly indulge in various creative pursuits, like crochet, experimental cooking, reading, and writing, and I hold a managerial/editorial role in a financial services organization with a global footprint.
For a long time, social media hijacked my personal writing space, as I was sharing more on Facebook and writing Tweet-sized poetry on Twitter. Social media is instant but temporary gratification. Ultimately, a writer needs their own space, and personal blogging provides that space. I had started a blog more than a decade ago but all things need to be infused with new life, emerge in a new avatar, and so it is with my new blog space.
Let your love and encouragement pour into Blue Pen Strokes.
Check out Aneesha Shewani (@felinemusings)
He did not want to walk through The doorway to the end He held my hands, pleading for time But he had to let go! Old man, I whispered, years later Nothing’s changed – still no Utopia We have a war, a recession False prophets, greedy men The plague and climate change We haven’t learned – it’s all the same!
I opened my eyes To the blazing starlights Wrapped in reveries of love That once was wild and young Now succumbed to words Creating a yawning cavern With unbridled harshness No bridge to cover the distance; That wayward moment beckons With melting goodbyes To let go of all the gripe Follow the beloved Where the paths diverted, And in that sleepless night I heard the creak of longing – There was one shoe on the step
This Thanksgiving, I woke up to some heartwarming news. One of my favorite poems, written with much tenderness, has found a special place in a book. My poem is now a part of this collection of writings and illustrations from over 160 creatives inspired by the opening line “If I were a house.”
This fourth collection of #FromOneLine writings is a collaborative project with Sleep Pod – All profits raised from the sale of this title will go to Sleep Pod, to support the incredible work they do in helping keep rough sleepers and refugees warm and dry.
FromOneLine – If I were a house, anthology is now live on Amazon and available to purchase in the US and UK. An eBook version will be available in the next couple of days. In India, the book is also available on pothi.com.
“Thank you so much for being part of this book. I hope you are as pleased with the end result as I am, and I hope that together we can raise lots of funds for Sleep Pod, whilst also giving your words and artwork extra wings to travel around the world.”
Note from Meghan Dargue of the Kobayaashi Studios
As I rejoice for being a part of this global community of creatives, my heart is filled with gratitude for the day, I discovered the #FromOneLine prompt on Twitter. I loved the writing challenge and it soon became a part of my creative routine. I admire Meghan Dargue’s artwork, as I get the first glimpse of the book in this video. She is a talented artist and a wonderful person. I want to give a loud shoutout to Meg for not only bringing the creatives together but for always being kind, gentle, and encouraging in her communication. She helps us make the world better with words and drawings.
#FromOneLine ☆ Friday Challenge ☆ was an interesting one.
My finger hovered over ‘skip intro’ Even before I could decide I was swiftly pushed inside The chaos and the drama I participated, unsure if I enjoyed The attention-seeking cacophony Of false pitches by fake people; Constant hustle to reach the top Until the ones at the pinnacle They began slipping off When all their lies were caught Ambition dead, now a corpse With a frail, petulant voice “Bring me more people,” he said.
In the morning solitude The frost slowly melts On cold glass doors Touched by the first rays Of a subdued winter sun You can almost hear it; The crunch of breaking apart Atoms split, dreams depart Just pale lonely droplets Sliding down the panels Gently trickling into oblivion!