//This is a delightful prompt. Is a place to write mostly not considered a priority that deserves your time and attention ? //
/ A room.of her own /
My ideal place for writing would be amongst sprawling meadows and lawns, lush surroundings, amidst gurgling brooks and streams, where sunlight filters amidst glistening leaves.
This picturesque, Utopian landscape is close to L.M.Montegomery's description of Prince Edward's Island, where if I remember, "meadows slope to mist of pearl and purple".
In the absence of such Sylvan atmosphere, chirping sparrows and nature's delight, I satisfy myself with my meagre, metropolitan, manmade hideout.
Virgina Wolfe has mentioned that a woman should have a Room of Her Own if she were to make a success of her literary pursuits.
A bedroom with a comfortable chair and table, a notepad, a multitude of colourful pens, some peace and silence are what I require and need to make sense of my thoughts and write..
In this digital age, these recede in the background as there are various writing tools and techniques, and apps to write.
A clean, non messy and tidy atmosphere creates an ambience to write and makes it an almost meditative journey, where you can find peace and pleasure in words and language, which certainly deserve your time and respect.
/ The clear blue unpolluted sky is hardly visible in the city and there is not a single star is sight. However in the remote Havelock Island, the sky shimmers with stars, making us wonder if we share the same skies/
Silence of the heart Scribbles of the mind Dribbles of the hand Pages blotched by tears Crumpled with fear Trapped within her own universe Haunted by impostorism Imprisoned in writers block Empty pages cold & wrinkled Ink left to dry Lost in search of a deeper impression No line ever ends poetically The hesitance never fails to stab brutally Lost between fun & torture of writing insanity Emotions have gone into hibernation Words incinerated in thin air Neither is the moon here to empatize What a tasteless night Is this a drought? With just a blank sky Ink bleeding through blotched spaces Are the forgotten poet's pages.
a dusty almirah with peeling mahogany paint and fragrance of my childhood stores few photographs, clothes of my grandparents, belongings of my mother, a part of me and remnants of other dead things there's a small photo album with a golden spiral wire piercing its pages just like nostalgia pierces and binds pretencious parts of my heart every page of the album has kept safe parts of my life in a way i wish i could have few photographs are inside the supposedly yellow envelope which now looks pale white because of burden of time and forgotten memories the photographs have captured pieces of my childhood in the colours reminding me of a vibrant life which once was mine to live there is a photograph of my parents in black and white and i can't help but see how every corner of the photograph has the colours of a beautiful rainbow there is another photograph of me when i was fifteen it's captured in colour i try to remember what my eyes felt when it was captured and suddenly the photograph loses it colour black mosaics seem to replace the floral prints of my red dress and a pale white shade spreads over the blue sky i take a black and white photograph of my parents and stick it on the multi-coloured wall of my room to diffuse some real colour in the colourless wall
~aleesa | January 15' 2022 _______________________________________
#song#mirakee#writersnetwork "Little Things" by One Direction This song has all my heart since the lyrics are filled with the positivity and love. The melodious voices of Harry, Zayn, Liam, Louis and Niall always make me feel in love with myself it makes me feel like we all are perfect in some way or the other, doesn't matter if we fit in someone's "criteria" of the perfect and flawless we are beautiful in our own way "I am in love with you, and these little things"
I have torn down my house my souls home, to rebuild myself up from scratch filling all the cracks unlearning bad habits toxic mindset and insecurities my foundation will be stronger than the last no longer easily bruised by another or myself I tend to past wounds with self-care and love I fill my home with plants and books wonder and adventure hope and love I let go of trauma and what others have said were unrealistic and unreachable, no longer beyond my grasp when the sunsets and rises to a new day I try again I begin again.