she spoke but then...

lay strangled

the death drone drumming in her ear

the air

morbid pungent

hollow promises

floating

rotting in their guts

the dirge of

the black waters

inhaling the

fragmented red shards of her being

words extinguished

in shadows

illumined grey

words slayed

violated

extinct
silence reigns
unscathed
unbidden
unchallenged
stoned memories
disappearing in liquid flames

dancing

celebrating

pyre of hope

but she spoke...

silence was sleeping when...

she spoke
words ran
basked in the sun
stole fruits
teased butterflies
nectar off the flowers
dew off the grass
they swam
in the clear
blue air
the ripples they made
drew people
used brushes
they shaped
she spoke
words played
hide and seek
myriad colours
angry red
shy black
innocent yellow
purple that rebel
and blue
my favourite
her favourite
she spoke
words galloped
they swam
they played
breathless
panting
sweating
troubled
embarassed
fervent
nervous
shy
contemplative
thinking
slowing down
sitting
catching their breath
calming down
they sleep
unsound
awakening tired silence
but she did speak

I have trouble writing.

It's ok when I have a question paper in front of me and know exactly what words are expected to fill the pages. It's ok when I have been assigned a topic to write on. On occasions like these I have a hard time staying within the assigned word limit.

How do I write about myself or my self.....

It's tough.
It's taxing.
It's gruelling.
It's almost masochistic.

I will be judged. The words that I have strung together will be evaluated. I perspire. Will I pass the test. Will people like what I have written. More importantly, will I be proud of what I have written a few months from now...

Writing for me is masochistic....
and this blog is a proof of my exhibitionist tendencies....