Clouds of anxiety hovered right before my blissful bedtime slumber,
Questioning often that what has changed, ‘’Why was my canvas bare despite the trials I wonder?’’,
Was the creative bug in me long dead? Why did the beads of words break up without any closure?
Why did my pen fail to write? A question I couldn’t decipher ...
Writing was therapy and a means of communication,
My two cents of every enticing emotion, how hearts feel, ache and heal – every bit of connection,
The inability stung hard, the void screamed – when didn’t write – my weapon of expression,
I loved my pen, it inked the throes of sorrows and heartaches,
It celebrated the tales of victories and arrivals of eases after prolonged waits,
It gave my innate thoughts wings and liberation from the shackles that bound me – a sense of relief it did bring,
But out of the blue, my little lala land had turned gloomy, grey and blur,
Why did my pen fail to write? A question I couldn’t decipher...
Wondering in solitude for the multiple reasons of abandonment by the mighty sword,
Did the inner voice start trembling and wasn't firm anymore?
Did the chaos take a toll, opening the several confusing doors?
Was the faith partially diluted? Did the opinions lack clarity, thoughts may be tainted?
Had I allowed the creepy self-doubts in? losing the authenticity, leaving my canvas corrupted?
Just like that as those minutes turned into hours which to days transformed into years,
I learned that every gift isn't for you to ponder on its duration,
Your prowess has a purpose, your finesse has a role - as you walk towards your tailor-made destination,
The power of the pen is immense - its worth isn't measured in mere calculations,
It's a journey of intentions, a pathway of sincerity, enlightenment and dedication,
I am still yet to discover what works and what doesn't,
but one thing I m assured that the heart has to be the sole organ in its preparation,
Only then my pen writes, when fierce, authentic and sincere is my perception,
When unadulterated, courageous and good-willed is my aspiration,
Everything has a price and so only when it's worthy - my pen writes.
Just like a new me has birthed so has my renewed vision,
Instead of dwelling in the past or the future, I vividly chose to live in the present,
Realizing the magnanimity that my pen inks today,
Letting go of will it tomorrow or why it didn't yesterday,
I breathe in gratitude for all that my today holds - in its entirety - my tailor-made package,
I walk ahead - chinning up with immense pride - leaving behind the cluttered baggage,
Holding my opinions upright, standing unabashedly to what I
Accepting the trail being chosen for me - ready to falter and learn until I succeed,
Choosing compassion over judgments and love over fears - wearing the revamped heart on my sleeve.