The writer's past

--V--

Daylight crept in the next morning and filled his room with a pinkish orange colour. He squinted at the sun and stretched. It looked like a very promising day. Since the time he had left civilization he had barely felt his previous addictive tendencies. He did not need to smoke or check his correspondence obsessively. Yet he could choose to do these and feel no obligation to continue doing this as a necessary activity. The joys of reflecting on past failures, of looking at the long and tedious journey to reach this point.

The writer and time

--IV--

As he looked up at the moonhe realized that it was later than he had thought it was. The concept of time was boring to him. But he had come to terms with it and had understood how to deal with it. Now time worked for him.

The writer's walk

 --III--

He still had 8 hours to rest. That would do. The sun would rise in 10.

The weather was very comfortable and he enjoyed the sensation of movement after having spent all day behind a desk. A pair of eyes looked at him from up a tree. He looked up at it having sensed that he was being watched. He tried to discern the shape of the creature but could only catch a glimpse of a brownish orange tail as it moved swiftly away. He bent down to pick up a pebble that had rolled down to where he stood. Something or someone had caused it to move.

The writer's schedule

--II--

His book was almost complete. He was going to complete his story and give it an ending that was deserved by the intensity that filled the previous pages. He paused and looked at the pile of neatly arranged sheets on his desk. He could see in them an inspired piece of hard work that had taken eighteen hours a day in the last 4 months. He had come to the end of his eighteen-hour period today and was going to go to sleep. Then he decided that he would take a short walk outside instead.

The writer

 --I--

Threads of words held in them flowery metaphors of meaning and flew out of his pen as he drew out shapes on coarse paper. As his sinewy arm worked feverishly, there were a few beads of sweat that formed on his forehead and threatened to flow off onto to the ink. But he stopped it with a swift movement of his free hand. His brow went from being to not being furrowed as he continued to write - as each idea formed it went from one position to the other. His thick grey hair hung onto his head as it moved and shifted with the brow. The effect of this combined movement was that of almost seeing his brain thinking out each thought.

Grapes are sweet

Grapes that are eaten
everyday, seem sour to taste
Sweet when not at hand

Yet it feels like home

White noise
Loud voice
Full house
Little choice

Connected, but not

I hold many hands
Some old and some very new
But I feel nothing

Never will understand

The day didn't begin until I went up to the small shelf in the kitchen and took some holy ash to put on my forehead. This was followed by a small chant and a bow. It was a simple ritual and I did it every single day.
I don't remember when I dropped this habit and certainly don't think there was a reason why. But I do know that when I did this in my childhood, it was not an act which involved reasoning or thinking. To this day even the thought of the act gives me a pleasant feeling of being calm. I am always reminded of the innocent hope that was in my mind at that time in the past and of the funnily silly happiness that I had almost all the time (when I was not angry with homework)
That the whole world has so many conflicts based on what to me was and is a set of simple rituals and a means to feel hopeful or calm or happy is just beyond my capacity to understand.

Draught

The fount has dried

And there is no water in the sea

I tried and tried

But there were no clues for me

I throw the line

But fish, there aren't any

Just a bit of brine

Could hold the key

But o friend of mine

I have run out you see...

abcb

A clean slate?

Scribble on it

A snow pile?

Walk on it

A blue sky?

Paint it red

A stop light?

March ahead!

Rules list?

Break them all

Rhyme twist 

You bet!

A lullaby set to the tune of boredom

The sun set five hours ago
But it is still light outside
Maybe it is this blanket of snow
In league with the cloudy sky

The world is at my fingertips
And yet so far away
Boredom has me in its grip
I fear it is here to stay

Bear with me as I brood
And mope all night long
I tried as much as I could
Not to write this cheerless song

Waves

As the warm water lapped against his legs he felt a sense of excitement. On an impulse he pushed himself up with is hands. Patting the sand out of his hands and clothes he started walking faster and faster until it was a run. With each foot forward he found himself battling against the ocean to get past its waves. He had to lift his feet higher and higher to get around the high waves. And then when he was almost waist-deep in water he dove in. He pushed through the water with all his limbs and tried to move deeper into the ocean. He swam further and came up to the surface for air and bobbed on the water for a while. He looked at his wrist watch that had ticked on in spite of the saline water threatening to enter it. He had been pushing against the currents for 20 minutes and had moved a few meters out of the shore.

A giant wave came crashing over his head, it broke and carried him back to the spot where he had started.

Guilt-ar

"You see that window? I could have put in that window frame with the money you spent on that guitar." They  all giggled at the mock anger that her father had. Lame jokes about how he could still fit the guitar into the wall where the window would be ...

It was blue in colour. Just like in her dreams. The dreams in which she would have a guitar in her hands and then would not be able to play a single note. Because it had been unplugged or because of some other reason that made sense in her dream and didn't after she woke up. This had become a recurring dream. She dreamed that she knew how to play the guitar but just could not. 

After months on end, finally, she brought home her dream blue guitar with love. Books on the guitar and plans to take lessons followed.

But they remained plans.

To this day she has been seeing her dream come true... She has a blue guitar. And she cannot play a single note.

Beholder's eye

Did man evolve to appreciate and enjoy nature and its beauty or does nature constantly arrange itself to appeal to the eyes of human beings?

The Tree

It stood alone. There were no other trees near it. There was just a little bit of grass that grew in tufts here and there. It was a young tree with broad leaves that were very very dark in colour. They hung about the trunk and let the sunlight through. The leaves did not move in the wind either. Even though it was very young the roots emerged above the ground a bit. There were some newly built houses near the tree and perhaps it would not stand for too long after because of the fast-changing landscape.

But it didn't look like a tree that would die. It didn't look like something that would cease to exist ever in time. A tree whose leaves didn't respond to breezes, whose flowers did not advertise the tree's presence through an enchanting fragrance, that gave no traveler some joy by offering shade... The tree that stood alone against the sky as though it ruled it defiantly, not permitting another tree to dip its roots into the earth...

This tree would never die. But it came to life as her brush gently stroked the canvas.

Land of ice and snow

Wobbling on my bicycle

Trying not to fall

I rode thru snowed over streets

This feat in no way small

Tomorrow I shall venture out

to make the same trip

I hope the snow is swept clean

Or I'm sure to slip!

The windshield apple analysis

Q. The windshield of your parked car is smashed and there is an apple on your front seat. List 5 reasons why this could have happened.

1. Some one threw an apple at the car with a high speed trebuchet.
2. A vandal broke the windshield. A different person left an apple to cheer me up.
3. A worm hole from a different dimension appeared right on my windshield and someone on the other side threw in organic matter as a test.
4. Lady with high pitched voice sings on the street. Her voice causes glass to shatter. And people try to take her out by throwing things at her. An apple thrown at her falls into my car.
5. Teenage wizard wand malfunction.

An exercise in creativity. If anyone else would like to continue listing answers, you are welcome to try and leave ideas in the comments. It is a tough tough job! In spite of thinking so hard I still got quite unoriginal answers. :(

Then there was light

Lamp isn't turned on
The whole room glows orange,
 It is the sunset

Write one today

A letter to read
From someone far far away,
that brings you closer

Verse and Worse

Cool things in her mind to say
everyday
But by the time she gets here
they disappear
Again she shall create silly verse
of course
So what? In fact, ... Hurray and a cheer!
Blog's still here!

Arriving late on platform number...

Clocks whiz by like trains
Fast and unforgiving too,
But no stops or toots

Smell memories

Juicy oranges

Tangy and sweet explosions,

Smell lingers for hours

Drifting off

Sleep tries to take over

And thoughts run for cover

Lights spin and sting

But she must write this thing

Before her dreams devour her

Limerick schimerick

Does a swan sleep on a lake?
In the cold does it quiver and quake?
In the dead of the night
Under the pale moonlight
What a beautiful sight it must make.



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The duck slept on a pond
When it woke it stretched and yawned
It set off with a flourish
To catch a scurrying catfish
The day had finally dawned.


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A limerick must be nonsensical
As far as possible, farcical
It must have in it
An inkling of wit
And at least one end of a popsicle

Hai-flying

Jets fly in the sky
They leave white lines behind them,
No noises reach me

Food-ku

Jam spread over bread
A great hunger reliever,
One longs for idlis

Haikungfu

Sounds sweet to the ear
Looks beautiful to the eye,
Writing obsession

Doubt

I toss and turn
Thinking of
What best I could write about

Quite a few drafts
Disappear
And nothing's written yet

Rehashed words
Old stories
Past posts get repeated

Much too much
with this project
Have I now committed?

Immovable

A lovely light blue sky hung over the soft dawn. Wispy grey clouds were dispersing.

There was one that didn't seem to move. I stared at it for a while wondering why  it was so obstinate. Why wouldn't it move. Some special cloud!

It was a light grey in colour and through it the powdery blue sky seemed to peep through its translucent body. Why wouldn't it let the wind carry it? What was it holding on to that it was so immune to the strong gusts that took its brethren away.
 
Then it dawned on me. It was the moon that was just about to set. 

Start

If not celebrated
It's deliberately wasted

So, here begins anew
A project especially for you

A project 365
A record for and of life

Here goes! Join me if you can
Wish you a great 2013!