I have thoughts I can’t articulate

I have words I can’t speak

I have stories no one will sit through

I know jokes no one wants to hear

I have a speech ready but no audience

I have advice but no takers

I have secrets but no one to spill them to

I have a wish and no one to reveal to

I have fears that I am phobic of expressing

I have fantasies I cannot bring myself to enact

I have knowledge but none to impart to

I speak a language no one understands

I have experiences no one wants to share

I have a talent I want to showcase

And so I write



I’m sad
So my tears flow out of a nib

I’m elated
So I babble through an ecstatic delirium of words

I’m worried
So I scribble away my anxiety

I’m filled with ennui
So my boredom plays between stanzas I craft

I’m angry
So my ire seeks release through a pen

I’m scared Continue reading →


nI aint a new age guru leading you to salvation
Nor a prophet offering no stairway to heaven
I’m just a silly old blogger, that’s me
Still, ma’am/sir, can I ask you follow me?

Neither an A-list celeb, nor star nor hotshot
Don’t have no branded merchandise or autographed mugshot
Not even a millionaire with advice for free
Just a fella with time on hand asking you to follow me

No theory, jargon, Plato, or Sartre for sure
No bungee jumping tales, no intrepid travelogue, I’m quite the bore
I’m just sitting with mouse and keypad, making a simple plea
Asking people like you to come, follow me

Not much to offer, just breeze in and out
No sweepstakes to win, nothing to shout about
I’m no politician, Pied Piper or Queen Bee
I’m just looking for a few likes, someone to follow me

No heavy-duty philosophy or angst-y stuff this time,
Nothing serious, just a two-bit rhyme
I’m keeping it as simple as it can be
You get the gist… now please follow me


What is this pen I hold in my hands
Is it a mere instrument of metal

Or a fine thread that tethers my thoughts to paper
Gives them life ere they disappear

An incandescent ray that expresses my feelings
And illuminates the blank sheet of paper on which it writes

A reservoir of fluid ink and emotion
The fount from which emanate words with the power to move

Perhaps a wordsmith’s wand of wizardry
Which, with a flourish, can cast a spell on the reader

A catalyst that draws forth scintillating inspiration
From the deepest recesses to transcribe, nay craft, into the luminiscence of poetry

And profound insights from the very soul
To imprint them on a page forever

This pen, it is a quintessence, a manifestation of who I am at the moment