Gone are the days
when she believed that people don’t change,
When she herself isn’t what she was a year back
How can she expect people around to stay the same?
Now, she says lesser about herself
her stories do it for her,
Now, her eyes witness more of the world
by sitting in her room, under the blanket, through those books,
Days when she found writing interesting
Days which she is living now
are the ones of not mere interest but passion,
Had she not realized what writing held for her,
Had she not realized the essence of those stories,
Had she not realized the worth of great story-tellers,
She still would have been simply leading a life, not living one,
With writing came several other things-
The missing driving force of her life,
The creative pond she now dives into,
The liberation of creating a world she wanted to exist,
But it’d be a white lie
to say that writing has always been fun,
Was it altogether tough?
Let her just say- it isn’t (always) easy,
There are times
when magic spills through her pen,
And then are those
when only mess can be managed to get unveiled,
But doesn’t order come out of mess?
If there were no mess,
there’d have been no order
and, perhaps, order is nothing but an ordered disorder,
Now, when she speaks less and writes more
some look at it as her degradation,
In her eyes she never rose this high ever before in her life,
So, gone are the days
when people don’t change used to be her belief,
People change every second
Deciding whose changes are worth sticking to is what she needs to learn!
IF YOU ARE A FIRST-TIME VISITOR OF MY BLOG, DO REFER ‘First-Timers’. IT WOULD HELP YOU IN EXPLORING THE PLACE.
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