spellsandspellings-blog

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Let the Queens Speak #1 

.. 

Flowers were not enough 

I wanted the rust and sin

 I needed the kingdom

 A throne of thorns and fire

  .. 

So believe me when I say

 I clawed the earth open 

Until he listened to me 

I changed the seasons 

To get my way 

.. 

I know what they say 

“Poor meek Persephone 

abducted by Hades’ 

.. 

Fools, I commanded him to take me 

You just like the tale better 

Of me being the damsel in distress 

.. 

But I assure you,

 I am no weakling 

The bringer of death bows down with love 

It is only to me 

.. 

You seem to be shocked, 

Yet it is the glorious truth

 When I ate those seeds 

I knew exactly what I was doing. . . 

https://www.instagram.com/p/BmlgQL6Bm8e/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=le3dmegaw5ir

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WEED- PARO ANAND A book review. It was as usual a resolution of mine this year to read more books. I had to choose the obviously underrated resource; my college library. I love my own books, but I'm tight with a budget this year's and I haven't yet gotten enough time to visit a bookstore. So the library it was. Coming back to the book at hand, what a way to begin the year! I'm a junkie for emotional, heart tugging stories and rational descriptions, Paro Anand provided both, along with exceptionally vivid insight into the minds and souls of "weeds". The story is of a young boy, who's faced with hurdles of society after his father abandons his family to reasons unclear in terror stricken Kashmir. How does he survive? How does he manage a broken family, a stubborn mother, a clueless brother and judgemental members of society. What life changing choice does he make, that decides his fate in the end, all make up for a riveting read. Especially during such a tumultuous political climate, it seemed an essential criteria to read through, and understand the multitude of feelings interwoven within a community of strife. Paro Anand'a writing is effortless and captivating, making sure you don't lose track of the plot but at the same time it doesn't end up monotonous, which is an achievement of itself. Thus was the first book of 2017. All geared up for my 2nd. If you have suggestions please do let me know. Follow for more reviews and poetry and other random crap I come up with. _syasfa_

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I need a list of books to read this year, and I'm not googling that  shit. Therefore, help me out, and tell me your favorite must read books. Much love

Me

[spellsandspellings-blog]

The Title Conundrum

i’m a writer. Or at least I’m told to say that when I meet new people or post some of my work on instagram, or even blog here (excuse the sly advertising) ‘Hi, I’m a writer’ The single most infuriating and uncomfortable statement I ever say. For in all the sense of the real world, I’ve never ever undergone any sort of training, like several million other ‘qualified’ writers out there, neither have I ever been distinguished enough to gain that title. A Writer. 

 On the contrary I do write. Poetry, prose, dialogues, speeches, bits and bobbles of everyday shenanigans. I do write. Yet, I do not consider myself a writer. At the very least perhaps it is too early to say so, whether the fact is that writers are stereo-typically believed to be old, wise souls sitting behind a type writer making medley out of the rhythm of letters they defend onto paper, I don’t think there will come a time or a place when I realize if I’ve ever earned my title as a writer. The little things are better, as the kids these days say, a blogger, an insta-poet, all of these seem more era appropriate, what with me being only nineteen after all. 

All this blathering aside, I write. I’m not a writer. I will never consider myself as one. You won’t go unto someone and introduce yourself as ‘Hi, I’m human’ would you? If you would, congrats to you, on being dastardly unique and do introduce yourself to me. The point I’m trying to make, before I slip into another rambling, is that it is as natural for me to write as it is for humans to breathe. I do not consider it different or a distinguishable quality. For me, I simply have no other idea of living. So please, you tell me, Am I a writer?

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https://www.instagram.com/pbuddhaproject/

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XD

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I know little about love And that’s enough It’s quite simple You see It is to be The brightest star In all the constellations Of someone else’s sky _Syasfa_

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Exhausted

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Who is your friend.

Who is your friend? Is everyone you meet your friend? Is anyone who’s nice to you, your friend? Is nobody your friend? No, to all of the above. Friendship is the ultimate underrated form of love, in the world. I love making new friends, but do I make friends with everyone new I meet? Nope. You see, when I say friend I mean, someone who knows you inside out, heart and mind, with such passionate love, no expectations, undying support and loyalty. Who’s your friend? It’s not the random chick you met at a party and drank shots with, it’s not the guy you text for five minutes when he changes his profile photo, it’s not even someone who would hug you when you meet. Who’s your friend? A friend is someone who made you drink coffee to sober up before your day, a friend is someone who doesn’t need to contact you because they’re a part of your conscience, a friend is someone who’d wipe your tears, slap you when you do mistakes, and soothe you through your fears. A friend is someone who would push you to great heights and catch you when you fall. Don’t generalise friendship, it is sacred. Not everyone can be your friend, and your friend can’t be everyone. Now, who is your friend?

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Love. And me.

Let me let you in on a little secret. Psssst, you don't have to be in love. I know, mind blowing, right? We're pretty much brainwashed, Girls are beautiful only if they're wanted. Boys are men only if they're having sex. People aren't worth something unless they're in a relationship. Though I agree, romance is a beautiful phenomenon. However it is not the only love that exists. I've seen friendships deeper and more soulful than love which swears it is forever. I'm guilty of this as well, mulling about, saying nobody loves me. And I realise it is actually quite silly, because I have friends, parents, teachers, blah blah. But that doesn't matter does it? Love isn't love until it has an ultimatum? Or is it better, because this love flows with no hindrance, of expectations? It might be an out of the world feeling to be in love, I'm sure. But to be in this world and loving yourself? Travelling and exploring the world and instead discovering what you are, is lovely for me. So instead of looking for my other half, I'm going to focus on piecing myself together. And that's what love is.

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Cinderella

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Seasons of Sadness

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"Green eyes"

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Chocolate Part 3

You thought I was too drugged in your lips and the high off the chocolate to notice your fingers trailing down my neck. Onto the swell of my cleavage tracing the letters of your name with your fingertips. Trying to slowly pull the sheets off That was very gentlemanly of you. Taking your time and making it slow and sensual. Unfortunately a girl can only take so much, so your lack of surprise when I ripped off the sheets was exhilarating. As though you knew, you could play me. You knew I’d lose my senses. Little did you know, I could make you lose your mind.

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Chocolate Part 2

I don't know how you knew, that my night stand had a bar of chocolate inside. And when you reached over and tugged me along. Grabbing my waist with your calloused hands, I woke up. That hazy mist of love lifted and the electricity of lust took its place. You calmly unwrapped the bar, bit off a piece and chewed. Still looking at me, still grinning, while your eyes darkened and dropped downwards to my lips. I've never seen a man turn into a ravaging beast before that moment, when you pinned me down and devoured my mouth And that wasn't a kiss. God, no. I wouldn't insult it by calling it a kiss. It was a war between lips and tongues, a battle of flavour between the sweet, syrupy chocolate and spicy, earthy essence of you...

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Return

The crux of the universe is to return In nature we learn, The tide rises then falls And the flimsy sand castles With gentle kisses of the sea It destroys them all. The crux of the universe is to return. As the hand of the clock Ticks by faster To meet it's beloved at the other end. For a brief second they meet Only to part again. The crux of the universe is to return The sun rises and the sun sets It illuminates the world with flowing gold light And snatches it back By spilling over darkness. The crux of the universe is to return, The tide will rise again The clock will tick again The sun will shine again. You are at the crux of the universe Let yourself crackle and burn. Spit out the embers they throw at you. Then stronger you will return. -Syasfa

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Chocolate. Part 1

It was an innocent enough flavour. And you turned it deliciously sinful. The word itself, in your deep voice sounds so forbidden. "Chocolate" you whispered on a lazy Sunday morning, when I asked you what you wanted for breakfast. Your lips and tongue rolling the poor word around, turning it into a lyric of a song, just like you did with me, the night before. I remember staring at you with confusion, my mind still hazy from waking up, and the aftereffects of last night's festivities still causing shudders down my body. "No" I whispered back, not wanting to burst our little bubble of heaven. As your eyes held mine in a smouldering state, understanding my hesitant denial. While your lips quirked up into a grin....