yarnofwords is now on Instagram

Dear All,

I'm taking my love for words, the tryst which began 14 years ago to the next level. After much thought and consideration, I'm sharing my poetry and quotes on Instagram. I can be followed at yarnofwords:)
Deepest and most sincere thanks for all the love you showered here, for staying put, just like my words despite of long gaps in writing.

Instagram is solely for the love of words and writing. Sharing an excerpt here....
Spread the love
Looking forward to have you there!

The beauty that fails to die

Dear words,

Did you ever know that you would be stringed together

With the last or the middle letter to form a necklace I would love to wear?

Dear music,

Did you ever know that a little tap here and a string there

Would melt my heart and soothe my soul?

Dear capsicum,

Did you ever know how green would look on you

As you wore that colour and carried that crispness to lure me in?

Dear Dark Chocolate,

Did you ever know that you bitterness would glide

And arouse someone even as you would melt in their bodies?

Dear Flowers,

Did you ever know that your petals would add vigour

Joy and hope as lay there dead, bringing someone alive?

Dear water,

Did you know how gracefully you could flow, in reality

And in metaphor, washing away my fears and pain?

Dear love,

Did you ever know the many hearts you would touch in a lifetime

Aching, breaking and uniting forever?

Dear Beauty,

Did you ever know how musical you would sound

As I would utter your being in my whisper?

There’s a book lying on the shelf…waiting to be picked

 Ever thought which words shall whisper into your dreams or crawl under your pillow as you lay there, opening a case of pages, immersing yourself into a world far away from ‘reality’? Oh! too long a sentence, was it? Some sentences like it brief. Some like to stretch their muscles nice and long, some like it crisp. Some like it warm. Some like it cold. Some like it fluffy. Some like it flat. Some like to rise. Some like to wallow. As each word dips itself into the last drop of hot chocolate lying besides your lamp, it kisses your lips, quenches your tongue of the longing you’ve always had, slowly entering your bloodstream, permeating the cell boundaries, only to enter the nucleus and make you feel the feel of the words you just tasted.

Your intuition calls you. It slowly rises from ashes, the one you never thought belonged to you, becomes a molecule and fuses with your spirit. In moments of oblivion, when the chatter outside makes you deaf; in moments of catastrophe, when the pieces of self look at themselves, all broken and shattered; in moments of elation, amidst smiles filled with glee, a voice speaks, only to find us no one around. Who do you think it was? Cum’on! I answered it right in the big-inning of the sentence.

As I read the text on language, it’s development and theories, words called me. My body felt hot with all the heat that the city was giving away. They contrarily felt cold. I invited them over. We had a chat, a very small one, just when Yalom wrote “Patients will resist your disclosure”. Our chat was mere a thought which was blank. No word spoken at my end yet understood by them. They knew it reached me. However I knew it too, yet I didn’t understand what chord they struck in me. Some are magic, they are all smoky, light, enchanting, vague and alluring. A swoosh! And they are gone, leaving behind a feeling unnamed.

Did I know Yalom would invite me for having breakfasts, lunches and suppers? No! actually Yes! We all carry answers to our questions we never think we will ever be able to answer. We reach out to those we think shall know. Why? The heart needs comforting, my friend. Far away in the corners of the heart lies a part which hears nothing but words. Words written are what it listens to; those that play music which enters the soul, so gradually, making them feel a part of our veins. The next time somebody invites you to open the pages to their world, give it a thought “Why now? Why them? Why You?” and may be as you shall ask the why’s, more shall emerge as more shall die.

            

Currently reading: Gift of Therapy by Irving Yalom

On the list: Tuesdays with Morrie, Illusions and There’s no such place as Far Away by Richard Bach

P.S: I'm on Goodreads, let me know if you wish to join:)

I will never be “okay” again

I will never be “okay” again

I will never be okay again,

Coz ‘okay’ is too ordinary a state

Of mine, at present

Coz ‘okay’ is not what ‘okay’ means

Coz ‘okay’ is a futile word

Coz ‘okay’ defines itself in times

Coz ‘okay’ means something but is nothing

Coz ‘okay’ is not what I felt yesterday

Coz ‘okay’ is not what I feel today, or tomorrow

Coz ‘okay’ is hollow and empty

Coz ‘okay’ is a good defence

Coz ‘okay’ never feels in being ‘okay’ itself

Coz ‘okay’ never had an existence it was made to be

Coz ‘okay’ is not what I strive to be

Coz ‘okay’ is a statement and a question

Coz ‘okay’ is transient

Coz ‘okay’ is just ‘okay’

And so ….

I will never be okay again.

P.S: Title borrowed from a quote I read on a fellow blogger named Zeba's tumbler page. It's supposedly a title of a book I'm not aware of.

Stay

“I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is”*

In the background the instrumental paino plays with titanic’s theme, and how can it not bring tears, for there’s so much love in those notes. A picture of us hangs to my left in that handmade paper frame. The future stands still but we move in infinite space**. A space where a plenty of lessons have been learnt.; from haggling about money to breathing our own breaths with the rhythms of the nature, the walks, discussions about the extra-ordinary in the so called ‘ordinary’ life, and times where everything was said with not a single word exchanged.  

Your words were read by me again. They were fresh as a morning’s dew, giving birth to new feelings and thoughts about the magic of poetry and the charm of melodies. It is with words as with sunbeams. The more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.*** Isn’t it? You always talk of how the ambiguity in your writings allows for everything to be said in a mysterious way. Mystery lures. Reminds me of how the life began, with the forbidden apple being eaten, for it was ‘for-bidden’. I ask, does the banality  of simple texts and proses defies itself? Aren’t they words too? Vocabulary, as much as it has intrigued me, has confused me as well. Vocabulary is like the different stages of life that a language possesses. When spoken, it feels like language feels alive! I heard him say “You write your first draft with your heart, you re write with your head. The key to writing is to write not to think”.**** As I reminisce these words, I smile, for poetic proses demand thinking, yet, not always! 

Those were the days when poems were written one after another, like epiphany.

The presents which are gifted to us everyday turn into past the next day. Some remain untouched, unopened, others are opened half-way, only to be rejected for it was not something we were expecting. By the time, we realise, a week of presents goes by, however the gratitude in our heart enables the smallest ones to be seen and opened. I often tell people “ looks are deceptive”, turns our so are ‘presents’. It’s better than not getting one, right?

Thank you for being a part of my present everyday!

'Presents' are sweet, even if bitter,
for they shall be remembered as memories one fine day!:)

*From Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

** From Letters to a young poet by Rilke

***Words By Robert Southey

**** From the movie “Finding Forester”

In your words I find so(u)lace

Trying we both are, in our own separate ways.

The moments sometimes freeze, but mostly it sways.

We both are a little afraid of what we would see.

And, we both keep our love, locked in different bays.* 

Hello you there,

How has the writing been doing? Any thoughts on penning down what you already have in your mind? I thought a little coaxing will help you write, sigh, what was I thinking? You continue to be a lazy snail and I race along the waves, attempting to occasionally sit by the shore and listen to the music of the waves. I’ll take back the word ‘lazy’ because I know the thoughts are going in your pensieve. I wait for the day they get woven into your yarn of words.

So lost in the world of words

My green tea sat there waiting

And a sip of bitter tea

Brought the memories

Of how someone saved me from choking

There are times when I’m quiet and silent and I can feel you, your silent presence is enough for my soul to find its link to its soul-ace. As I write, I wonder, why do we need words to define all our experiences? Will the experience not cease to exist and be the moment we start to define it? It shall morph into a memory. Won’t it? Then what shall be of the experience? It’s like killing it with words just when it takes birth. A rather tragic analogy, never thought I will be thinking of words in such terms! Tell me, if I do not speak, how thou shall understand the feelings deeply felt, the rise and the fall of the thought-provoking waves amidst the gleaming light bestowed upon by the might moon?

The names imprinted in the sand

By my feet, not my hand

Waiting to slip by, with the waves

When it’s in the heart, why need the land?

Your old posts are a treasure of gold for me. Every time they read again, a new feeling rises. At times it’s helps me reminisce the feeling I felt when I first read it. Your words aren’t banal, they are melodies written on piece of instrument which plays ‘the moment’s music’, uplifting spirits and words, themselves, to skies that don’t exist. That’s how I feel when I read Pablo Neruda, Kahlil Gibran and Rumi.

You would be surprised to know that even as I keep coaxing you to write, my own habit finds a rare place in this schedule of mine. Yet, here I’m, writing unlike you, literally in every word!

Thank them who taught us

To read and to write

Thank stars who showed us

The one path, amidst many blinds

For if it were not for words

What else would it be?

The locked door at this end

Finally did find its key!

*these lines have been written by my fellow blogger friend Kunal, the link of his post has been shared there and here. The post has been inspired by his beautifully written words:)

The future stands still but we move in infinite space

The work at this side of the fence is never ending and the irony of this land is that people, after a point of time, can do nothing but toil to pass the 50 percent mark. Threads of different colours entangle her, making things a blur occasionally that the very coloured threads seem to enmesh together to a ball of wool that is colourless, odourless and directionless.

And while the mouth did its chatter amidst the game of ease and tension that the clouds played with the erratic warmth of the sun, something bewildering happened. The waves of the shore began to recede in a way unlike its nature. The sand of the beach became dense and heavy. Even the wind questioned its nature, for it would fly with the breeze and make different shapes that which the dunes would love. And on this beach, in a corner lay a book questioning its existence. Someone threw it in despair and disgust for the essence of words had lost its meaning. And while the tornado came by and left, the dead silence of that very moment lingered on, for someone far away lost her life to words. Speechless.Wordless. A barren land.

That autumn where the leaves were crumpled and crushed under the weight of existence came by and went. As each leaf slowly left its haven for the burial, it wondered of all the days that went by, swaying and gliding with the cool breeze, with its pals. Some of them breathed their last breath months ago, and some were days away from the earth. In its last breath it thanked the sun, the rain and the tree, for the stay was warm and nourishing.

She took that clearing into the forest to find a way out, only to find that it would take her back in-to a world that always belonged to her. As she walked on the leaves that cried listening to her tears, that shared timing with their death, she saw a few trees which bloomed with all their youth.

Now she sits on that favourite spot which faces the forest. The sun, in all its glory promised it’s presence even on wintery days. It comes by to say a hi for it knows she feels cold. And there she holds the very book, which was abandoned for the betrayal of words. Today, the words cry, not because they were aimless or cruel, but because the tornado ensured that no order remains in its presence.

And it is with words as with sunbeams, the more they are condensed, the deeper they are. The security of the sun makes her rise each day. Sweet words exchanged. The promises give rise to budding leaves on the branches that were left barren and lifeless. Life continues to evolve. She knows not of what shall entail but with the sun there the smile surely stays. She goes back to reading and owning that which was bereft of her.

P.S: 

1. The title is a line by Rilke

2. The line in Italics has been written by Robert Southey.

Distance hurts but we got to do what we like best with that distance

Considering its an all new chapter of my life I have started here the count of lessons too shall begin from that very first number we were taught to write as ‘one standing line’.

#1. Distance hurts but we got to do what we like best with that distance

As you grow into a mature butterfly with every single day that passes by, you also realise that even as you try to keep that pain and tears away from your dear ones, wanting not to see them dissolve in that pain, they are doing the same at the other end, protecting you as always. Pro- tec-tion. Se-cure. Its fab-u-lous how words form a melody and a meaning in themselves. How se-cure makes us cure and how pro life is pro-tec-tion? Did you ever share this with these words, for they know not the meaning they hold?

Yes, they’ve been loved ever since their re-cog-ni-tion and val-ue added some more val-ue to the already eventful life. There is this sol-ace ( sole-ace) that they give, perhaps darling as you find a fondness in that reading, I find mine in writing. The words bind us the way they always have.

If extroverts had an option to find solace then maybe they would want to have one special gift from their loved introverts. It would be being at peace with that fabulous book and a comfy corner. To think of, it’s not hard, right? In fact nothing is hard until it is tried and tested. As a writer writes, a comfort and that special solace comes by, not coz words have always been loved but because words as they come by, they leave soft kisses on a heart that longs for love every single day, on a heart that has been full of life every single day.

Once a teacher told her student, who was annoyed by the fact that she was not a good reader. He said “Just that there is a need for readers there is also a need for writers, for if there are no writers whom shall one read?” These words brought a smile to her face, for she was a writer and still continues to be. There may not be many people who read what she writes, there may not be that appreciation for her words, at a large scale, but knowing that she always writes because it pleases her is a beauty in itself. Why, you ask? The pleasure that small things give is at times magnified by the big things, to the extent that one forgets the sole of happiness in big events. She writes coz she loves. She also writes because some day she would like to gift these words, little bundle of joys to her children when they grow up, hoping that they would nurture these little curly letters in their own ways.

What it takes to keep writing even as no one ever comes by

A choke in my throat

Perhaps a little tear stuck by

For the words would often be read

Sometimes by friends, more so by passers by

Time went by hopping to blogs

Words here and there, but never a lie

Some friendships were formed

Few for a while

Others faded, like a cloud passing by

And there were phases

Of posts after posts

And then a silence, a blankness for a while

And there was this one avid reader

The one I love

My posts would be viewed

Sweetly, from those miles

And I would often share this feeling

A vacuum of sorts

And he would simply say

“You write from heart, as others for the piles”

Yet this heart would wonder

Feel that ache and pinch

Words, my first love knew

Would offer sweet smiles and winks

And as this yarn keeps spinning

The yard stays vacant all day

And a few beautiful souls drop by

And appreciate the existence of this place

The dreams then flutter its wings

For well, some true ones say ‘worry why?’

Some hearts still get touched and feel

And relate to the words written by………….

Aakriti

Shabd-e-Kalam

Yeh joh shabd yahan hum bunte hain

Wahan door kahin kisi kone mein

Inhe lapet kar koi hasta toh koi rota hai

Gustakhi nai kijiyega huzoor, yeh shabd nahi jaan hain

Ink ek ek daane mein hai base kain lamhe

Kuch sehme, kuch darre

Kuch ankahe, kuch kareeb aur kuch gambhir

Yeh joh andikhe dhage hain

Woh dhage nahi kisse hain

Apke, mere, unke,

Zahir hue, chupe kisi kone mein

Zahir hue, tode kaeen rishte

Aj jab beete dinon ki yaad mein

Hum sang baithe hain, inke, apke aur apne sath

Kaeen kisse yaad karte hain

Jab shabdon ki pehchaan na thi

Kuch tohfe samay ke sath diye jate hain

Umar ka kya kahein

Apne mein hi ek paheli hai……

Aakriti

Passion to write

I hardly remember learning the alphabets in nursery.All I recall is learning, rather singing ABC along with others.

I had never thought how words would become an integral part of my life, so much so , that every feeling felt, every emotion expressed, that of sorrow or filled with glee, that of sheer pain, or of ecstasy, would be hand carved by nothing but WORDS.
Over these years, with every piece I wrote, an article or a poem, my love and appreciation for this form of art has increased and matured, just like a tiny seed takes years to take a shape of a full grown tree.
And here in my very first blog, I offer my gratitude of my 8 years of writing to "WORDS", the soul reason I m here!! May there be many more years to write and to express.....

IN LOVE WITH WORDS

Right from the time I first saw you,
To now, this moment, which is so true,
Who knew I would attach this way to you?
In my moments of aloofness, happiness or bidding adieu?
We have come a long way indeed,
And my love for you shall forever be a need,
You know my heart, more than I do,
You know when I cry, before my tears do,
You know my smiles, just when my lips say,
You know me all, through some or the other way,
Not having you, is like a barren land,
With nature in sight, yet the air not to breathe,
With a life to call, yet lifeless from beneath,
You are my language, you are my soul,
You are the thread, that connects me to my "inner role",
You complete me the way no one can do,
The way "we" two connect, not many, neither do some few,
My gratitude to you, I offer in my prayers,
My thoughts belong to you, which you forever wear,
I' m an open book to you, my life I duly share,
And God up there, knows this too well,
It’s to whom I many a times address,
Until, it was "you", a pearl in the beautiful shell,
My compassion, my desire,
My lust, my need,
You know how "you" mean this world,
And help me know its meaning,
Had I not met you,
Life would be not easy to express,
With its share of dealings,
And today I'm proud enough to have,
Fallen in love with "you",
Oh! dear I loved you all this time,
Didn't know, until a seconds few!!