Breaking Free

Do you know how it feels to finish writing 100 posts on your blog? I do. It’s absolutely nothing special. Of course if I would have begun writing this blog with an aim to write 100 posts, I’d be jumping in joy and probably giving up on the idea of writing more since I’d have accomplished what I wanted to. In my shoes however, I rather feel a lot of pressure building up on me because with this much writing experience, I’m going to be expected to deliver better from now on and that is going to fill me with an enormous amount of anxiety every time I gently slide my pen against the paper hereafter.

Honestly, there is some amount of joy somewhere inside me that I wrote a 100 posts but what makes me feel a tad more happy is the fact that it came so easily. Of course I had my days of good writing, bad writing and not writing at all. And as I look back on this whole writing experience, I see that it has been a colorful journey with a large gray patch dominating it – for yes, I had to struggle a lot to get ideas in a particular extra-stretched period and it got so worse that I was finally forced to put down the pen for a while in order to get myself in order and not write rubbish. That is why it would be a complete lie if I say that I didn’t go through any difficulties in this whole course of writing these posts and yet, I say it came easily – because I never looked forward to it. I have never written to reach a 100 or for that matter, any writing goal. I write because I love to. That’s all I would want to say about getting this far.

So far, so good. But what’s next? To be honest, this question has blown out my brains. I don’t know what do I write next, but I do know that I shouldn’t be writing what I wrote all this time. A few months ago I experimented with writing humor, I tried to flirt with the idea of satire and fortunately, it worked to some extent. I saw people reading and appreciating what I wrote and I grew very comfortable with the genre which is the reason why I’m, at this moment, in a strong position to take a deeper, more successful plunge in it and that is exactly why I want to break-free from this cliche I have surrounded myself with. I have always believed in not being a specialist of any kind. I don’t want tags. When you call me a writer, i don’t want an adjective to compliment it. I don’t want you to call me a funny or a serious writer or any kind of writer. I’m just a writer. Working with a genre, an idea, getting comfortable with it and just when you’re doing fairly well – breaking free from it to find something else is how I define versatility. And if I’m ever to be bestowed up on by any adjective, through my work I’d see that it’s nothing and nothing but versatile.

I see a lot has been said already, I should work towards it too. So allow me now to go and fumble and stumble and come back, walking tall.


Ambition and Sin

This is a tale of ambition and sin, 

of how a man with treachery did win.

And further of how the tremors of his skirmish with fate, 

uprooted the legacy of an empire great. 

It began in some segment of history, at some place by a river on the earth brown, 

where blessed by Fire stood a mighty crown. 

And stand it did unlike others of it’s kind, 

for beneath it’s feet not soil, but glory one could find. 

In these lands hailed a warrior valiant 

and the aura of his deeds had made him eminent. 

No ten thousand swords and no amount of brawn, 

could see from his heart the valor drawn. 

And yet, nor a crown, neither a warrior as such, 

can alter the course of things when fate has decided much. 

The empire was one day threatened when the powerful Greeks 

with their naked weapons, halted at the creeks. 

The battle lasted for forty six days and nights, 

no one withdrew showing endurance it’s greater heights. 

This was the time when  the warrior proved his worth 

in a mighty feat, saving the land of his birth. 

Men sang in his praise and name, 

his attributes were great, they did claim. 

Some enthusiasts proposed that the princess be his wife, 

and the land be his which he had saved with his life. 

And those words sweet as nectar, 

provoked him to secretly dream of the scepter. 

Days and nights and years thus passed in peace, 

but a storm was coming and the harmony was going to cease. 

Once again the Greeks with exceeding vigor and might, 

appeared myriad on a day gay and bright. 

And so inevitable it became for the emperor to hold 

in order to defend his throne, the royal sword. 

Through dense forests and a thick night 

fearless, as he led his men to fight, 

little could even a clairvoyant tell 

of the terror that was on him to befell. 

And sure did the attack on the clan like a serpent creep 

when humming flew the arrows through woods dark and deep. 

The clever ambush forced the emperor to jolt 

dropping the weapon, he made a bolt. 

On seeing the soldiers engrossed in the battle, 

the great warrior rode behind his emperor with an agenda fatal. 

He pulled out the sword and cleft the emperor’s head in twain, 

his blade now shone with the blue blood’s stain. 

In his heart now a blithe man 

he rode back with a face retaliatory yet wan. 

In the tempest of his force, killing men like fleas, 

soaking his sword in blood, he brought the Greeks down on their knees. 

The battle was won, and the emperor, dead 

it all had happened along the lines fate had laid. 

The throne now empty and weak, 

without a successor, was in a place quite bleak. 

This was the moment for the warrior to achieve his dream, 

and he did, crowning himself with a victorious gleam. 

He worshiped the God of Fire for the greatest of the reigns, 

and the God blessed: “Thou shall’st win till fire itself rains!” 

His ever victorious empire annexed kingdoms from far and wide,  

it was said that on his fingers power itself bide. 

For years, he enjoyed the halo behind his name, 

synonymous to greatness, such was his fame. 

But what stands, has to someday fall 

and it held true even for his empire’s wall. 

Many kingdoms, a lad from Macedonia had brought down, 

and now his eyes were fixed on this great crown. 

With his mighty troops, the emperor prepared for defense, 

and yet, somehow it’s futility he could sense. 

“I won’t die till the fires rain!” he roared to the skies, 

but he had sinned and he had to pay for his vice. 

A soldier cried: “Your majesty, it’s raining fire, the city is ablaze!” 

at that very moment, he froze in haze. 

The scene from his chamber’s window smothered his heart, 

burning arrows had lighted the city with a great fiery art. 

As the fire burned all, the lad entered the royal castle, 

and in dread, the emperor held out a white tassel. 

“What is thy name?” he asked in fright 

“Alexander”, the lad said as his eyes shone bright. 

And the emperor then met his fate with his head cleft, 

his great reign was thus brought down with absolutely nothing left. 

It was a story of ambition and sin, 

of how upon a man’s downfall, fate did grin.