The Writer's Nest

By Akshita

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  • The New Life

    Engineering student. Engineer.

    So, the last semester is over. College is officially done. I don’t know how I feel about that really. I suppose I would have felt more of a change had I gone to a different city. But since that hasn’t happened, I guess it’s not really sinking in that my student life is over.

    I finished my last semester doing an off-campus internship, and am currently on a break. The past few months have not been easy. Adjusting to not being a student is a difficult process. Top it off with other personal disappointments, and you have the perfect recipe for becoming “mopey”.

    However, I have been trying my very best to not let that happen. In order to overcome my funk, and the consequent writer’s block, I have been taking an online poetry course. It’s called “How Writers Write Poetry 2015“, and is conducted by Iowa university. It was suggested to me by one of my favorite professors, who knows that I enjoy writing. 🙂

    It’s definitely a great experience since I’ve never taken a formal course in creative writing before. I have learnt about some really interesting forms, and I hope to add them to my writing practices. I will be bombarding this blog with a lot of poetry in the coming few weeks.

    On the whole, I’ve noticed that this blog has seen less of personal blog posts and more of poetry. I know the reason. It’s easier to hide behind poetry and other creative writing than write what’s really on the mind. And there has been a lot on my mind lately. When I started blogging, one of my goals was to make this blog reflect a part of me. And cutting out the personal stories would be detrimental to that. So, I will be making a deliberate attempt to communicate more on this blog.

    I know that I haven’t been exactly regular with the posting, and I’m glad that the readers have stuck with me in spite of that. This is my effort to start engaging more, and begin anew.

    Photo by Tim Mossholder

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    May 25, 2015
    Category: Life in moments
    Tags: Change, How Writers Write Poetry 2015, New Beginnings, Poetry

  • I Begin Again

    Photo by Morgan Sessions

    With crushed hopes,

    A wounded heart,

    Depleted spirits,

    I begin again.

     

    With salty eyes,

    A heavy mind,

    Cynical thoughts,

    I begin again.

     

    There is but one desire;

    To be better than today.

     

    With a broken pen,

    I begin again.

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    April 18, 2015
    Category: Poetry
    Tags: Hope, New Beginnings, Optimism, Poem, Poetry

  • Spunk

    Photo by Chris Sardegna

    She had so much spunk,

    That she made oceans out of

    The beads of perspiration

    That formed at her head

    When she looked ahead

    At the series of lifeless days

    That were coming.

    As she acknowledged

    The reality of what was to come,

    She promised herself

    That acknowledgement

    Was not acceptance,

    And that she refused

    To passively wait

    For days and months and years

    For courage to arrive

    And turn her life around.

    She refused to simply look

    Out of the windows

    Of her cage-like dwelling

    At the long road that led there.

    She stopped waiting

    To hear the doorbell

    That would spring her into activity

    And instead

    Got to work herself.

    Bracing herself for the tough task,

    She started shaking the chains

    That tied her to the weight

    Of imagined obligations

    That no one expected anyway.

    The chains were hard to break

    But at least they rattled

    And betrayed the signs

    Of inherent weakness.

    For her, for now,

    That was enough.

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    February 4, 2015
    Category: Poetry
    Tags: Change, Courage, Fire, Hope, Optimism, Poetry, Spunk

  • One Last Time

    On 20 November 2014, I attended the last ever lecture of my college life. Over the next few days, consciously and sometimes subconsciously, I was aware of the “last” time I would be doing certain things, saying certain things, meeting certain people. The last lecture, the last pen-and-paper exam, the last day at college, the last stroll around the campus, the last visit to every corner of the campus, the last tea in the cafeteria… the last day of living in the hostel, the last memories with friends.

    There are of course new things to look forward to. A new job, a new life. But the truth is that I was terrified; terrified of leaving that comfortable place that I had grown to call home. I was afraid of not being a student anymore, not belonging to that wonderful university anymore. I was afraid of growing up, and going out . I was afraid of finding out that life turns out to be very different from what I imagined it to be. I was scared of looking back one day and smile ruefully at my Plans, with a capital P. I still am.

    I know all of this is as clichéd as possible. I’m sure every single student goes through the exact same thing. Every college churns out tons of nervous/excited/naïve new adults every year, by the batches. I’m sure every one of these people find their way about. And yet, I don’t know it. For myself. I’m afraid of stumbling through unknown mazes.

    It comforts me that there is technically one more semester to go, even if I am doing an internship off campus. Although I won’t be living in the hostel, it is a relief that I can visit sometimes. It is true that I love the idea of new beginnings. But for now, I cannot help but focus on the strings that yet tie me to the university. I cannot help but cherish the small moments of my student life, one last time.

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    January 14, 2015
    Category: Life in moments
    Tags: Goodbye, Memories, New Beginnings

  • Blog Review: 2014

    2014 has been a very happening year for me. There have been many defining events. The coming year is going to bring even wilder changes! I hope that my blog will continue to reflect the things happening in my life and that my writing will stay true to the person that I am. 🙂

    Blog-wise, the year saw a lot of poetry, and some life moments in between. Here are some of my favourite posts this year:

    Stories:

    Grief

    Broken

    Poetry:

    Silent Love Poem

    Fire

    You Lied, Mother

    The Empty Page

    There Was Nothing To Be Done

    Life/Personal:

    Not Being Able To See

    Being Enough

    On Vulnerability, Bravery and Failure

    Last year, my Reader was filled with these wonderful blog reports. I started blogging in February of 2013 and hence, did not get it the last time. This year, this little surprise was waiting for me in my inbox. 🙂

    Here’s an excerpt:

    A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,000 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 3 trips to carry that many people.

    Click here to see the complete report.

    I hope the following year sees more eclecticism in my blog posts. 🙂

    Have a wonderful year ahead!

    Happy New Year – Festive, sparkling and glistening cake pops | niner bakes

     

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    December 31, 2014
    Category: Life in moments
    Tags: Blogging, Poetry, Stories, Writing

  • There Was Nothing To Be Done

    There was nothing to be done.

    Nothing, except breaking it.

    I took a deep breath;

    It felt almost acidic.

     

    Breathing hard, still,

    I placed it in front of me.

    Gathering all my strength,

    I lifted that club.

     

    You know the one;

    It’s made of words.

    The lethality of it is that

    Each word is a weapon in itself.

     

    Taking this club, then,

    I moved towards it.

    It was beating very fast,

    Striving to survive.

     

    Holding the club steadily

    I inhaled one last time.

    The astringent fumes

    Nearly caused me to convulse.

     

    But I squared myself

    And brought the club down on it.

    It broke into a million pieces

    But strangely, contained life.

     

    I looked at it in wonder.

    The pieces were still moving.

    The club slipped from my hands;

    I could not do more.

     

    But the acid had crept to my heart.

    And there was really nothing to be done.

    And there now lay two injured hearts,

    One broken and one burnt.

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    November 15, 2014
    Category: Poetry
    Tags: Heart, Heartbreak, Love, Pain, Poem, Poetry

  • Black Hole

    Photo via Google Images

    But when I see in the mirror,

    All I see is a dark lake, stagnant,

    Unchanging; where all paths end.

    No new roads, no new adventures.

    I see no glimpse of the ocean,

    That you assured me you saw in me.

    No vastness, no depth, no voyages.

    You say you see sunshine in my eyes,

    Lighting up everything around.

    But when I see in the mirror,

    All I see is a fire, harsh,

    Burning, destroying everything in its way.

    I see no evidence of Life,

    That you claim is hidden in my soul.

    All I see is a black hole,

    Where the whole of you

    Would cease to exist.

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    November 3, 2014
    Category: Poetry
    Tags: Destruction, Fire, Poem, Poetry, Woman

  • Seeking Solace In Your Past Self

    Often, in moments of fear or anxiety, I go back and read my old blog posts; the ones about bravery and growth and optimism.  I smile a little, nod a little, but a lot of times, I just wonder. Many times, I start reading and get lost in the words and suddenly, I realize that I’ve been reading the words as if they are by some stranger, when in reality, they are mine. Was it really me, who wrote these uplifting words? How did I know then?

    I used to think that knowledge and experience are things that only grow with time. What I learnt once would be remembered always. Maybe that is not always true. Maybe “knowing” is an ever-changing entity and you may gain something several times and lose it as many times too.

    trust yourself......
    Image via Pinterest

    Maybe growth does not always mean adding to your reserve of strengths. Maybe it just means that it evolves continuously, and the what was once a strength may as well be a weakness now.

    I have a love-hate relationship with crossroads and decisions. I like to believe that perhaps everyone does. I like the anticipation of beginning something new. I love that the thought that what may be coming may be wonderful and colorful. But at the same time, there is of course, this fear of choosing the wrong road, and ending up lost. What if that path was better? What if that school was better than this? What if that branch was better than this? Am I in the right place? Am I going in the right direction? Am I making the decisions which will lead me to that life? The one that I have planned?

    In retrospect, my past self has always chosen the paths that ultimately turned out to be for the best. Sure, I may have certain small regrets, but by and large, I suppose I am right where I should be. And yet, whenever the time comes for something new, I’m terrified. How did my past self make all these big decisions? How in the world did I know? How did I stand so bravely in the face of all those changes, all those challenges? I feel awed by that self.

    Maybe some day, I will read this again. And maybe I’ll have a clearer idea of what it all meant. Maybe someday, my present self will be a solace to the one in the future.

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    October 30, 2014
    Category: Life in moments, Random Musings
    Tags: Change, Decisions, Hope, Optimism, Personal Growth

  • The Writer In Me

    Photo by Jason Long

    I’m a writer of variety, she says.

    I write everything I see.

    But in all her stories,

    I see a little bit of me.

     

    With each story that she writes,

    She pulls out a thorn.

    A small something buried deep,

    A long-forgotten pain.

     

    She writes feverishly at times,

    Almost like a maniac,

    Stopping hardly to breath

    As her fingers heal by pen.

     

    Now I am all sore

    With open wounds all over,

    The writer sits by, satisfied;

    A wet smile sits on her face.

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    October 27, 2014
    Category: Poetry
    Tags: Creative writing, Poetry, Writer, Writing

  • The Empty Page

    fountain-pen-blank-paper.jpg (450×300)

    I wake up suddenly;

    The remains of the nightmare

    Form tiny beads of perspiration

    On my forehead.

     

    I shiver with cold

    As I think of that page,

    Sitting brightly on my desk

    Smug in its blankness.

     

    I tiptoe to the desk,

    Not daring to turn on the light.

    It glows in the dark though;

    Its whiteness teases me.

     

    I’ve had several such nights

    Breathing heavily in front of it.

    Willing myself to mar the white

    And waiting in vain.

     

    I burn with feverish passion

    Now attacking it violently.

    The pen slants across the page

    For hours, I lash out at it.

     

    The words pour out like blood

    And then I slash them out,

    Beginning anew,

    Then turning old.

     

    It is morning now,

    My fervor has cooled down.

    The paper bears the marks

    Of my crimson ink.

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    October 20, 2014
    Category: Poetry
    Tags: Creative writing, Passion, Poem, Poetry, Writer’s Block, Writing

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