Tag Archives: motivation

On rewriting inspiration

 When you ask me to revise a poem you ask me to meet again the Muse who seldom responds to invitation. She comes in suddenly through the door left open, announcing Her presence with words that have never sat together before. She says what She has to say and goes quiet; goes away or gets broken down into elements of the universe that I absorb without an intent.

Where am I to find this forceful genius?

I’ve been told to look for Her in spaces in-between words and lines, rhyme and rhythm, movement and breaks, language and sound. But I don’t find my Muse there; I find a key in a foreign language to a map that She drew.

Is She hiding in the white glow that lights my keyboard when I switch on my workstation? So, I should work and work and work on my verses. Or, is She in the deep breath that helps me ease into sleep? Then, I should breathe and breathe and breathe with my eyes closed to trick her into appearing. Perhaps it’s She who is the trickster: a mirage; a playful spirit that whispers in my ear. In which case I am cursed with the burden of loneliness.

With or without Her it seems it’s going to take a lot of time to re-see a moment that no longer exists, to re-write it in a way so that it exists forever.


I am beginning to grapple with the abstract idea of “completion” in creative writing which seems even murkier when talking about poetry. I read recently that “a poem is not truly finished until it has been seriously revised” and also “be wary of a poem that appears to be finished“. Statements that, as an amateur with 8 weeks of formal education in poesy, I find contradictory.
I need to also say that the poems you have been reading on my blog are not “seriously” revised. They have been written quickly, in a matter of an hour to a few hours if the form is tough (the Sestina, which is one of the hardest forms, took me about 12 hours). These poems are here more or less as they came to me. Now I am considering that all of this work here is a) probably unfinished, which is not a bad thing as, Da Vinci once said, “Art is never finished, only abandoned” and b) not good, trite, tripe. It’s making me question the quality of my natural skill for this art form. Though at present I am depressed by the thought, I am hopeful that I can see this as something to learn from; that all this self-doubt will make me a better writer and that it is a natural process. I hope it happens sooner rather than later because my Muse seems to have gone into hiding for fear that I will doubt Her every word and I cannot sleep because thoughts only She can give birth to have grown louder in my head in her absence.
I have received only love from this wonderful blogging community, for which I am immensely grateful but this post is not about  wanting an ego-boost. At this point I just want to learn from you, specifically about the role of revision in your creative process. Any and all thoughts are welcome from everyone, poet or not. Who knows who might be inspired by your comment!

Here’s an example of the creative process of the great Walt Whitman,

Original Manuscript: To a Locomotive in Winter by Walt Whitman (1874).
Original Manuscript: To a Locomotive in Winter by Walt Whitman (1874).

Summary of the manuscript (from Boston Public Library)

Written in Walt Whitman’s own hand, this early manuscript version of To a Locomotive in Winter shows Whitman’s creative process as he revised and reworked the poem, changing words and even pasting paper overlays of new passages until he was satisfied with the result. This manuscript poem is dated February 23, 1874, but Whitman continued to modify the text and it was considerably altered when published in 1876 in Two Rivulets, a companion volume to the 1876 edition of Leaves of Grass. This poem was republished in the 1900 edition of Leaves of Grass, well after Whitman’s death.

Image Source and further details: Boston Public Library (CC BY 2.0)


Concrete poetry: A Battle-Scarred Red Admiral

This post is inspired by a wonderful photograph for a brave little Red Admiral butterfly taken by Derrick J. Knight. Its wings are tattered but that didn’t stop it from coming out to enjoy the sunshine. What a magical moment, made permanent on film! Thank you Derrick for sharing this with us. I also owe you the title of this poem. You will find Derrick’s post with the photograph here. I’ve tried to match the shape of the poem to Derrick’s butterfly to the best of my abilities (well, what an hour or so of effort would allow for at least).

Concrete Poetry
A Battle-Scarred Red Admiral (c) Sam Rappaz, 2015


Here’s what a full-bodied Red Admiral butterfly would look like:

Red Admiral (c) Driss & Marrion CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
Red Admiral (c) Driss & Marrion CC BY-NC-SA 2.0


This is my first attempt at Concrete Poetry and it’s a tough form! Thank you Writing 201

Day 4: Prompt-Animal; Device- Enjambment; Form-Concrete poetry

Sestina: The surprise of a lifetime

In an attempt to regain balance I almost
Lost all control. The evening before I sat in my study
Thinking of what I could do different and love
More than my present occupation. My feet
Twitched below the desk in fervent prayer or doubt,
Either way I was beginning to kindle a soul-scorching fire.

On a blank sheet of paper I started to fire
Off ideas. I drew arrows and boxes for words that almost
Made sense but such mind-maps would make others doubt
My sanity and question my logic. They’d say, “Why’d you study
All these years just to throw your life away? The world’s at your feet
And you choose to kick it! You are misguided my love.”

But I am not guided by anything except my love
For a challenge. Why am I in the line of fire
When it is you who should be blamed for the shackles on my feet?
Why should I answer to you when you almost
Made certain that I would not question the purpose of any study?
No sir, I’ll answer only to myself when in doubt.

With righteous indignation I was charting without a doubt
In royal blue ink that makes angry words less stark. It was a love-
Soaked rendering of the mind that would need study
In the better light of reason someday. The night grew in the cold fire
Of electric bulbs and I pondered dreams that have lasted almost
An entire lifetime without my knowledge. I felt numbness at my feet

That soon spread up. I switched to verses to find within their feet
A rhythm by which I could greet daylight. There was no doubt
That those poems suffered as I suffered, but their magnetism almost
Straightened the compass that had led to my disorientation. I was in love
With two things seemingly different but when purified by the fire
Of a philosophical torch they were two theses for the same study.

I wished to have one eye of science and another of art to study
Life in all its regulated nuance and irrational feat
Of fancy. The morning dawned with this realization and soon the fire
Of heavens commanded the skies promptly. It made me wish for a doubt-
-less existence, where I could wake each day to a destined love;
One where I will get by without saying, “Everything’s good, almost.”

I decided to share this with them, those people who almost
could not fathom change. It surprised me to find no rebuke, instead only love
And it became apparent that I had always been in control of their doubt.


This poem is a rough first attempt at writing a Sestina. The form requires 39 lines divided into 6 six-line stanzas and 1 three-line Envoy. Every line in the Sestina has a precise word ending. The order of the word-endings in each stanza are: 123456  615243  364125  532614  451362  246531  531/135.

This was tougher than the villanelle that I wrote a few days back. Linked verses are hard work!

Image Credit: NASA from Flickr.com (CC BY-NC 2.0)

Writing an Anagram poem: Hirsute


You would need a shirt
to cover up at the beach. A true
layer of warmth sadly does not suit
any season. The daily rite
of razing what is sire-
d not of your own volition is sure
to rub anyone the wrong way. Tire-
some products, apparatuses for a suite
bathroom – are sophisticated but hurt-
ful to a natural hobbit from the Shire.


I am trying something new. Sometimes prompts and normal styles feel mundane and I need a fresh challenge to push my creativity. Enter, Terrance Hayes. He invents new formal constraints to write interestingly about very human subjects. I haven’t read his works (yet); just the one poem: Nuclear, which is a perfect example for an ‘Anagram poem‘.

These poems are adopted from the word games that we find in newspapers. The rules are:

  1. End words must be derived from four or more letters in the title.
  2. Words which acquire four letters by the addition of “s” are not used.
  3. Only one form of a verb is used.

Crafting this poem was a very enjoyable experience. I found it stimulating to have to speak about the subject with the words that are derived from the subject – there is something very Cubist about this affair.

I haven’t made any surprising inventions here (and hope to get better with practice) but I was surprised by how my thoughts could weave around designated words and still not lose their intentions. Is this what it means to be led by the horse and the road?

Update: Judy from lifelessons blog chose this as her prompt for the day (thank you so much!) and has brewed a brilliant Anagram Poem of her own, with a twist. Make sure you read it here.

Nananoyz from Praying for Eyebrowz has also attempted an Anagram poem and made the challenge even trickier. A brilliant composition. Have a look here.

The Do that I Do that I Do so, well?

My café au lait which is too foamy for its own good sits hissing by the side while I silently waste my time on Twitter to find out what’s more important than Djokovic winning the Australian Open. People are sharing their blogs, inspirational quotes and there are other bits and bobs on there which on a better day I would have cared to click on. Not today. Today I am feeling admonished by my coffee: with every shush and hiss I can hear it tell me that I haven’t felt the need to “create” today. I knew this day would come, that ‘one day’ which can, depending on context and point-of-view, mean realisation of a dream or a nightmare.

So I open my WordPress Editor, switch on a playlist of one of my favourite contemporary Indian (pop and film) music composers; mildly surprised by how much his recent music is sounding like Christian rock, and here I am. The coffee is being drunk and heavy silence is being shut down by my long-lasting Logitech speakers. Today has not been a great day, so far. The scansion of my poem ‘A common love‘ failed and what I first “felt” I was writing in blank verse turned out to be in blah verse. Scansion? Blank verse?

Scansion: breaking down of poetic verses into stressed/unstressed syllables then grouping the syllables into a ‘foot’ (trochee, iambs etc) and then checking if there is a regular pattern to how the feet appear in each line which gives us the meter. The whole thing adds to how one perceives/hears a poem and can either exemplify a poem or destroy it based on the prowess of the poet. Scansion is of course based on interpretation and how one hears the syllables.

Blank verse: (preferably) non-rhyming, iambic pentameter, has emotive foot substitutions, with mid-line caesuras for added effect and interesting enjambments. It is probably the most sophisticated form of English metrical poetry.

This was my first formal attempt at writing anything in blank verse and I am not presumptuous enough to think that I would succeed; that in a few hours I could go from an amateur poet to writing like that Shakespeare chap or that Milton fellow. No, of course not. The other voice in my head is chuckling as I type this…because I “felt” I could do it. I stuck to the right syllable count and there are some interesting mid-line caesuras and enjambments (or so I believe). But I don’t have the iambic pentameter down. Will I ever? I. NEED. TO. have it down in less than 48 hours as that’s when my assignment is due.

Did I tell you that I am scientist? I have had an almost purely technical higher education. The last time I studied ‘art’ in any seriousness was NEVER. English was considered a fluff subject and social sciences a necessary evil. These seemingly innocuous subjects could pull down one’s GPA. The glorious GPA. In India we called it the total percentage – an oxymoron for a generation of, well, morons. Eat facts; Purge facts. The assimilation and digestion of these facts was encouraged just far enough to answer the “application-based” questions in the annual nation-wide central board examinations. I was inculcated into this band of buffoonery early and it’s not like I had a choice. No one ever has a choice in these matters.

When I prod my earliest memories of being in an “educational” institute in India I invariably come up with the scene of the annual parent-teacher meeting that was scheduled for the day when the final examination results was announced. I mean literally announced. We would enter our classrooms to find a list of names chalked out on the main board along with their respective total percentages. These were ‘The top 10 lists’ that went viral before such things were ever conceptualised. I say chalked out because for scores of children not seeing their names up on the board made the classroom feel like the scene of a murder investigation: their dreams and hopes had been killed off by the notorious evil of intense competition that they were somehow complicit in and their futures now being reevaluated and investigated in detail by persons of higher authority. Oh, the trepidation. Have you ever seen a six year-old have insomnia and indigestion because of stress? Please visit India in April and you’ll see millions of them.

In one of those evil annual meetings, when I was about 8 years old, in a prestigious school in Delhi an English teacher changed my life. Yes, we start learning early in India. I was distraught that I had placed 2nd or 3rd in the class and had missed out on the first place because of one percentage point or less. My teacher who smiled and handed my report card to my mother (who was very happy and proud of her child) looked at me with concern. She congratulated me on my rank and told me that I had done exceptionally well. She told me she was very happy with me and that I was an obedient child and very intelligent. The whole while I was looking at her wondering where I had lost marks that has costed me the rank. I wanted to see the other report cards. I am not good with praise so I was happy to have some critical points to mull over in my eight year old brain. She could sense, I think, that I wasn’t reassured by her generous compliments. Then she said something that pulled me out of my abysmal state with such force that I have over the years abstained from venturing into that dark cave of self-criticism and if I ever happened to find myself suddenly in that chasm then I would have the torch of her words to guide myself out:

She said, “Sampoorna. Always compete only with yourself.

Back then the biggest mystery of all to me was: How had she known what I was thinking? It’s obvious now that she was a good teacher who knew just what to say to make sure her student didn’t end up killing herself over that chalk outline. Perhaps what she didn’t know was that with those words she changed my approach to my education. (This time without the quotes.) I will never forget her, those words and that moment.

I have always loved science and have made a career out of a passion. But I have loved English and the social sciences too and it was probably because of my fourth-grade teacher’s wise words. I did well enough the latter subjects to keep my GPA high but did not go into them so deeply that it excluded me from the current generational agenda: Only Engineers and Doctors Allowed! That rant deserves its own post. However I competed with myself to know more about everything. I no longer looked for a blackboard, even a metaphorical one. I haven’t done so in a very long time. In the process I ended up having an illicit love affair with questions such as, “What is humanity?” and thinking thoughts way beyond my curriculum and career path such as , “Without language we would never have realised that we all have the same questions.” I can go as far as to say that my teacher’s wisdom has led me to be the mixed by-product of societal expectation that I am: neither an engineer nor a doctor but somehow both. This blog is also an extension of that self-competitive state which I would now rephrase as self-discovery. I am learning as much about myself as you are about me.

And now, how come a scientist ended up caring about scansion, blank verse, poetry? Because competing with oneself means learning constantly and creating something everyday. I am no longer planning and doing experiments but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an original thought to put to paper. And that brings me to my dismal day which somehow this post has redeemed. The itch to scratch out verses is returning. The evening is still youngish and I need to retry writing blank verses. I seem to suck at it but heck, who’s keeping scores?

Today's Daily prompt helped give direction to my thoughts: Teacher's Pet

A final acceptance speech made to share 33 blog sites

Thank you to everyone who has ever nominated me for anything. I appreciate it but this is going to be my last acceptance since it takes a LOT of time to make these posts. In case anyone ever feels like giving me another award please don't desist and I will accept it on an honorary basis. Although if you feel you need to see a post then sorry, that won't be happening again. I hope you understand.

I wanted to take this opportunity to acknowledge the bloggers who keep me motivated but this list of 33 sites is by no means meant to be comprehensive. To the nominees - please don't feel obligated to do anything about these awards. I am just sending out some of the love I have received here at WordPress. I've heard that it only grows when shared. What a curious thing!

Adored, admired
Liked, loved
Shared, showered
Accolades, awards
Acknowledged, accepted
Bloglove, blogshare
Aiming, ageing
Gracefully, giving
Back, but
Final, formal
Thanking, thinking
Happy, humble
Feeling fortunate.

1. Sisterhood of the world blogger award

Nominated by Saya at Saya..D..Poet. Thank you so much!



  1. Thank the blogger who nominated you, linking back to their site
  2. Put the award logo on your blog
  3. Answer the ten questions they’ve set you
  4. Make up ten new questions for your nominees to answer
  5. Nominate ten people

Saya asked me just 5 questions, rather intense ones. You have been warned.

  1. Name a moment till now which has brought on tears of sadness or gratitude or happiness etc.

The most recent moment was tears of gratitude that I shed just past night because of my husband’s unconditional love and support. *Ick! That was tough to type.* I don’t do ‘corny’ well but the truth had to be told. He deserves more than just a page on this blog.

  1. Have you felt an incomplete feeling as to what you are doing is not enough? If yes, what did you do?

Oh yes! I feel that constantly and it adds to my anxiety tremendously. I am trying everyday to not to feel inadequate but it bothers me that I am not doing enough to mitigate this feeling. Irony: You make my life interesting.

  1. Have you ever had a chance to rectify a wrong decision on your part? If yes, what?

Interesting. I don’t know how to define ‘wrong decision’. I don’t regret my past choices since I am happy where I am in my life right now, generally speaking at least. If you want to know if I have wronged someone and tried to rectify it then yes and it didn’t go too well. People unfortunately hold on to grudges longer than what I would consider healthy.

  1. Have you ever done a crazy thing while in public? If yes, what and what was other people’s reaction?

I am very easily embarrassed so I try to be proper in public. *key word: try* I would like to think that I flirt with the line of what is appropriate but I am still on the un-crazy side of things I suppose.

Here’s something that I don’t consider crazy (and haven’t done so for a long time) but at the time that I did it I wished I had turned into water and just disappeared into the pavement: Kissing my husband (then boyfriend) in public. *Ha ha! Laugh away you.* For an Indian girl raised in a traditional Indian home it was a massive act of defiance. Something crazy. People’s reaction: The Europeans/Britons couldn’t have cared less. For all they knew I was water on the pavement. The South Asians gaped and still do.

  1. Have you ever been at cross roads in life where choosing any option over other was equally painful? If yes, what did you do?    

Saya, are you reading my mind? I am at the crossroads of my life right now. I am battling my many pro-con lists everyday and things are getting clearer but too slowly for my liking. *Ahem, answer to question 2 needs to be read again.* I don’t know what I will do but this blog will be updated with any (and all) revelations and epi-funnies (yes, that’s a Mr. Pink word. Do you like it? I love it!)

My nominees are some wonderful ladies I have met recently,

(Fearless) Natalie at Science, Books and Silly Things

(Factual) Science-y sisters (not their official name; just made it up now) at Faraday’s Candle

(Fotogorgeous) Desley at Musings of a frequently flying scientist

(Free-writer) Ameena at Randoms by a random

(Friendly) Nimmi at Soul mate’s – so near, yet so far

(Fantastic) Jini at La Belle Seychelloise

(Fervent) Betty at Pocketful of Joy

(Fostering) Rosemary at Le Chic en Rose

(Fun) Rekha at Window with a view

PS: Thank you for nominating me for the Very Inspiring Blogger Rekha. You can find my acceptance here.

(Forensic: because she dissects my poems artfully) Robin at Robin’s real life

My questions to you ladies,

  1. Do you like soap operas; which one and why? If not, then imagine a soap opera you’d like to see televised.

  2. What is the one language you wish you knew and why?

  3. What is(are) your favourite word(s)?

  4. Has your blog affected the people in your life? How?

  5. Do you think desserts should be eaten first?

  6. Do you believe the world can be divided into cat-people and dog-people?

  7. What/who makes you laugh the hardest?

  8. What’s the one song that can make you smile and why?

  9. Have you cuddled (or sent your cuddles to) your loved one today? *You know what to do if your answer is in the negative.*

  10. My favourite: Why did the chicken cross the road?


2. Premio Dardos

Nominated by Nimmi, Ruth and Faraday’s Candle. Thank you so much!




This is not a rule but since I have listed only sites run by women above I wanted to pass on this award to some excellent blogs run by MEN. Equal opportunity for ALL!

Some strong and lovely male voices I have come to admire,

(wRiting) Jamarow at Behind the Eyes

(Rambling) Derrick at derrickjknight

(Read-worthy) Dhruv at dhruvpartha

(Rocking) Akhiz at Akhiz Munawar

(Roaming) Jithin at PhoTrablogger

(Recklessly: too easy?) disconcerted72 at Recklessly Discreet

(Rhyming) Upen at VoiceURmind

(Reaching out) Suyash at Suyash Chopra

(Romantic) Chester at chester maynes

(Requisite) Geo Sans at Geo Sans

(Risk taking) Bryan at A Speculative Poetry Blog

(Reasoning) Nihar at Makeup & Breakup

(Riding) Dookes at Hogrider Dookes

(Realistic) TJ Paris at A ma vie de coer entier

(Researching) Prakash at Its PH

It’s been an absolute pleasure gentlemen. Thank you and good day sirs.


3. The Versatile Blogger

Nominated by PhoebePrakash and Saadia



  1. Thank the person who nominated you and add a link to their blog
  2.  List the award rules so your nominees will know what to do.
  3. State 7 things about yourself
  4. Nominate up to 11 other bloggers for the award.
  5. Contact your nominees to let them know you have nominated them.
  6. Display the award logo on your blog.

Seven things about myself. (I have already listed them here in my first award – Very Inspiring Blogger – acceptance but I’ve decided to end this final acceptance with another 7 things for you to know about me)

a. My favourite cocktail is The Long Island Iced Tea.
b. I am a dog person but I will pet a cat very happily.
c. I still love it when my mother feeds me.
d. I cannot go an entire day without hugging someone or something tightly.
e. I think Biology is super duper cool.
f. I like collecting bookmarks and poster prints of paintings.
g. I recently shovelled snow for the first time and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

My nominees whom I admire because they don’t belong to a niche and make it look brilliant:

(Artful and heartful) Paula at freshpaula

(Gaining perspective) Nelkumi at What does nelkumi think?

(Simple living) Livingonchi at All About Being Human

(Multi-talented) Iva (or Ivy) at Ivy Mosquito – Liberating My Creative Soul

(Dreaming big) la chica de la barbuja at La Chica de la Barbuja

(Unsurpassable) Judy at lifelessons – a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

(Revolutionary) Hardi at Fifty shades of reality

(Reminiscing) Teresa at River of Life Flows

Adored, admired
Liked, loved
Shared, showered
Accolades, awards
Acknowledged, accepted
Bloglove, blogshare
Aiming, ageing
Gracefully, giving
Back, but
Final, formal
Thanking, thinking
Happy, humble
Feeling fortunate.

Reading to write again

From a very young age, I suspected there was more to my world than I could see: somewhere in the streets of Istanbul, in a house resembling ours, there lived another Orhan so much like me that he could pass for my twin, even my double.

I suspect that there is another Sam too. I used to call her Kalpana, like the rest of my family. But now she is Sam. Kalpana has ceased to exist, in almost every way except in my mother’s memories.

I don’t think she ever lived in a home resembling mine. She couldn’t have. If she had then she would have been left behind in Hyderabad in 1990. She would be the ghost of the little girl that haunts that beautiful apartment complex in the posh neighbourhood. No. She moved with me everywhere I went in my life. I knew she was there because I have been talking to her. She has an opinion on most things and I try my best to accommodate her views in my decisions. But my best has rarely been good enough.

She is my double. I use her to stand for me when called by the Grand Jury of Conscience. They seem not to be able to tell us apart.

After all these years of being used and stepped on; of being mercilessly silenced; of being a quiet spectator she wrote me a letter. I considered it. She had just the one request: write.

So I did. I didn’t realise it then that her simple need would make me question everything. She was having her revenge and eating it too.

I have decided to answer her back. I have decided to learn the craft of poetry and tell her, while using language in its most sophisticated form, that I WRITE. I need Sam to like me again. I am coming up for trial: the Grand Jury is bound to convene soon.

I start preparing for my online poetry course from tomorrow. I hope you will forgive my lack of attention to your wonderful blogs. I'll do my best to keep up with as many of you as time permits.
The starting line of the post is taken from one of my favourite creative non-fiction works, Istanbul: Memories and the City by Orhan Pamuk.
poetry textbooks
My course books. Except Mary Oliver. That one I bought just for fun.

Why so serious?

They say the seeds of what we will do are in all of us, but it always seemed to me that in those who make jokes in life the seeds are covered with better soil and with a higher grade of manure.

Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

I wish I had the courage and the skill to make fun of everything. #JeSuisCharlie

Perceptive Goals

(c) Sam Rappaz

Slowly drop by drop

I will reach upside down but

Right side up for me

Related to post Who Am I and Why Am I Here?

Personal Photojournal Entry in Snow: Thawing up to 2015

I spent the final days of 2014 in a quaint hideaway nestled in the Swiss Alps without internet and any human contact except for my darling husband who packed his gaming console (just in case of an avalanche). Okay, let’s boil that down to no human contact.

Fresh snow

I experienced the first snow of this winter season. It’s late but not sorry, with about 30 cms falling overnight. The quiet that descends upon the land after a heavy snowfall is riveting. I especially and exclusively like the snow up in the mountains. It adds to the natural beauty of the landscape and doesn’t get in the way of ordinary life like it does in the city. I have found myself cursing it too many times, either because I am under-dressed to meet it or I am just not of this climate and sadly for me it’s usually both. But I will gladly admit that it is my preferred form of precipitation. Monsoons are awe-inspiring and I have loved them all my life but a snowfall is so serene and seemingly subtle. Something magical to me.

Markedly beautiful
Markedly beautiful

The silhouettes of the mountainsides stand starkly in the moonlight, that shadows most of the Milky Way but does not seem to stifle the burst from the human hearts littered across the landscape; tiny galaxies of warmth and wonder in their own right. I see from my vantage a vista of possibilities and choices.

Late night vision under the moonlight
Late night vision under the moonlight

The New arrived with bangs that echoed across valleys; burst forth from pressurised packaging to light up the present momentarily; as a metaphor on our times – evasive but coloured by hope and happiness.

Firework over the valley
Firework over the valley

I was better prepared for 2015 in 2014 I suppose. I am here on the first Monday of the year (which doesn’t mean anything if you’re living in an Islamic nation) just worried. There is no other word. 2015 has started and we are 5 days in. Or should I be say we have 360 to go? When I went through my blog report that the kind people at WordPress had created, for me and for you, on a generic layout with personalised information; making all of us siblings in one grand gesture of comity- I realize that 360 is actually not a great number at all. Is that enough time to do all I want to do this year? And that, ladies and gentlemen, brought me to the most crucial question of all: What DO I want to do this year?

The seven days of type-less pondering to reconnect with my Inner Voice. What do I have to show for it: a new face? A fresh start? 

At times the haze is of little consequence

I am humbled by my ineptitude to grasp all my attitudes in less than a fortnight. The cloud has settled low again.

And then it can block out the warmth

I am thankfully not drawing a blank or a frown on all fronts. I have signed up for Blogging 101 and my Poetry course starts next week. I have not yet been to as far as serious things go.

I do, however, foresee a series of posts wherein I try to tease out my real needs.

In this way maybe my words will finally begin to soothe me, with their seemingly subtle ways. Like Magic; not unlike the first snow. To bring to light the hidden colours.

2015 brings with it many possibilities. At this moment I don’t have a specific goal to reach. That is a first in my life. I can’t remember a time when I started a year not knowing what I must accomplish by its end. This is new and it's scary.