It makes little or no difference whether you’re a poet, an author or anyone else who has in any way connection with the art of writing, these three golden rules, among many, always remain the same:
1- You must ‘observe’ instead of just ‘looking’.
2- You must ‘listen’ instead of just ‘hearing’.
3- You must ‘feel’ instead of just ‘thinking’.
Unlike some people who have really fascinating stories about how they first got into writing, or how some may have had a dream in which they opened an old chest and saw it written in gold thread that they had been blessed with the gift of words, I think my own story is rather a peculiar one.
Is it a cliché? I guess I would say no.
Is it inspirational? I hope so.
Is it amusing? I surely like to think so.
If I had to choose one cartoon from my childhood (actually, it was an anime) as my favorite of all time, I would still choose the same one all these years later (I’d be lying if I said I don’t have that entire series still saved in my laptop). I loved the characters in this anime and there was one that I really liked even though he was kind of funny looking and not the typical protagonist of the show. Basically, he was a spiritual gangster, as I like to call him, being the ex-boss of a biker gang and of course the spiritual part comes from the things he said throughout the series.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering where this is going and if I’m even serious but I assure you this is all true. Anyway, in one of the episodes, this character starts reciting few lines of poetry which, for some reason, really hit me hard. I took my notebook and pen and repeatedly listened to his words as I jotted them down.
I still remember keeping that notebook close to me while my mind played with words trying to give them some sort of a poetic touch. I felt that the poem was incomplete and that it was up to me to complete it. I went to the terrace late in the night as was my nightly ritual because I’ve always loved strolling under the stars. The entire time I was thinking of words to rhyme and sentences to construct as I paced back and forth, feeling ecstatic and jittery over what was taking shape in my notebook.
Within a few hours I had finished my first ever piece of creative writing, something that I did not write because it had been assigned to me, something that sounded like music to my ears, something that made me feel like I could fly across the sky that night alongside the clouds, something that seemed like poetry to me.
Maybe the reason I decided to share this story after more than a decade is to say that inspiration can come from anywhere, at any time and place. Sometimes it hits us smack in the face and at others it passes by us silently calling out. We may not need to keep our eyes open as if we are constantly searching for some sort of inspiration to fall from the sky, but I believe that we do need to keep our minds open to the possibility of it embracing us at any point in our life.
-Ak the Wordsmith
She’s like that bird I see on my nightly walks.
Bright as the moon,
Its wings spread wide under the starlit sky,
its voice sweet and loud equal to a hundred mynahs,
nigh uncatchable, nigh unattainable.
-A piece of US by Ak the Wordsmith
A piece of US is my first poetry book and it is available on amazon in kindle and paperback format on the following link:
Sometimes I ask myself what I gained by loving you,
feelings of sheer bliss or the sensation of agonizing torment?
I’m not so sure myself,
but one thing I’m sure I’ve lost, is the courage to love again.
-A piece of US by Ak the Wordsmith
A piece of US is my first poetry book and it is available on amazon in kindle and paperback format on the following link:
Though you left a long time ago,
a piece of you still wanders and lingers in my heart.
I wish you had stayed a bit longer still,
until I learned how to live without you,
without completely falling apart
-A piece of US by (Ak the Wordsmith)
A piece of US is my first poetry book and it is available on amazon in kindle and paperback format on the following link:
I can hear the gentle waves,
From a faraway singing sea.
I can smell the scent of the night,
But I am nowhere close to a summer field.
Without a mistake I can sense it clearly,
It is the winter wind composing the rustling of the leaves.
-Ak the Wordsmith
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing…”
“Go ahead, you can tell me.”
“It’s just that I’m weird.”
“Hey, we’re all weird in our own way. It’s alright.”
“No, I mean I’m really weird.”
“Um… What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m a writer.”
“Oh!”
-Ak the Wordsmith
In the early hours of a typical Sunday morning, I jumped over and side-stepped graves all around me as I made my way towards where my grandfather slept six feet beneath the ground.
I kept talking to myself as was a habit of mine which was always intensified whenever I found myself alone. Stepping over the last of the taller graves and reading out the familiar names on the tombstones that always conveniently served as directions for me, I finally approached my destination.
I felt… strange. Surrounded by more than five thousand graves in the centre of one of the largest graveyards in the city, I felt… peace.
It was dead silent. I was so far deep into the cemetery that the noise of the world could not reach me. There wasn’t a living soul in sight and the only sounds that I could hear were the birds in the surrounding trees and the rustling of the leaves on the branches above me.
I hadn’t known peace like this before. A feeling of certainty that this is exactly the place where I’m supposed to be right now. I felt… alone. In a world full of people, I felt I was the only one left and I realized that the only one I need to connect with is my inner self.
I hoped, no, I prayed that all those who laid there slept in peace and that they all were happy somewhere up in heaven.
I walked away from that place, my head and eyes towards the ground and my hopes soaring higher than the clouds.
I stand at a crossroad
A decision to be made
Visions of my past
Obscuring, before me what lay
Remove all doubts
Let go of all fears
Take the first step
with my mind austere
I must close my eyes
and my heart must be resolute
the time has come
for me to make my move
It has been decided
and I walk my chosen path
I shall face all hardships
with no fear in my heart
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Ak the Wordsmith 