“Why am I reblogging another blog’s post?”- This should be the first question to be popping up in your minds when you see this week’s Idle Muser’s update, as I’m not somebody who reblogs very often. I remember it’s been just 2 reblogs on my blog in past 2 years. Here is the third one. Well, this one is primarily because of a bait, impossible to resist, thrown my way. I am going to receive a free book (I hope I do), in exchange of this reblog. For more information on this giveaway, you may click this link-
But, now, when I look back, I wonder why did I never reblog her posts, all of which are equally deep, beautiful, well-written, informative, and mesmerizing. I shouldn’t have waited for her recent-most post to reblog her. Yet, I did; didn’t wait exactly, but never promoted this well-deserving poet, storyteller, and (by profession) a copywriter.
Why do I follow her, if you ask, I’d suggest you to visit her place once, just once, and you’d know the answer. Her blog, as much as is filled with beautiful poetries and stories and non-fiction, it has as many informative articles for all kind of writers. Hers was one of the initial blogs that I had followed, and boy! lucky I was. ‘The Musing Quill’ has not only helped me getting better, but it inspires me to write better and get better with my every writing piece.
Do visit her place. I’m telling you, you won’t regret a bit. This post of hers that I’ve just reblogged, is one of my favorites. It should be enough to make you curious about her place. Drop a comment below if you like her blog/ start following her after my today’s reblog.
PS- All the appreciation and praises are my own thoughts; nothing that I have written is for the sake of impressing Asha (she already knows how much I admire her), nor is it to push you over her blog. I just wanted to express, once again, how much I adore ‘The Musing Quill’, and why do I do so.
What is poetry? I know not. I’m a mere amateur trying to be someone. Mind you, not like someone. Poetry, to me is elusive. I know about poetry just as much a new-born knows about the wide vast world. It’s an ocean to me, and I try swimming across, trying to reach somewhere. With words as my oars, I beat the waves.
What is poetry? I know not. I merely build castles of thought, words upon words. The bleak ones collapse, I sulk at the debris. Some laugh at me, mock me, and I’m lost in despair. Some manage to stay put, and give me hope. Poetry is mystery, and I’m a hopeless gumshoe.
What is poetry? I know not. I merely paint, draw, and write. With smiles, sometimes sobs, the canvas is filled with pieces of me, hidden in the sketches, between the letters. Poetry is like love; unconditional…
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