It’s taken me all of my time spending time doing nothing to realise I miss writing. I miss writing. It is like taking away the life support of someone in coma. Where coma is me being in a state of limbo deciding what to do to take care of boredom, and the life support being my habit of writing.

So, I have started writing again. It gives me the power to be myself and keep my readers interested about the stories I tell. What stories do I tell? Actually, I might never know when writing can only be a door to the world of knowledge. We’ll know, but we’ll also be aware of the story happening in the moment.

Does this make sense?

I don’t care if it makes any sense. Why does everything have to mean something? My fingers dance on the keyboard and I let the music be my words. Woman, I just love writing. Writing gives me the relief I have potentially never come across in life. I put my thoughts down here for the world to wonder and myself to mull over.

What makes sense if not this?

I sometimes think I am not honest when I write to you, my readers. A bunch, actually. To think about it, my thoughts are far beyond the numbers I can count for a moment. But, the ones to read them are only a handful. I get decent amount of readers to all of my posts. We are a tiny family now with nearly two hundred followers and only a fifty reading actively.

Sometimes seventeen people make sense together.

To this, I am grateful. To you, I owe my all. I don’t know how to thank using my words to you who read me. Who try to understand me. Who take time to waste their time on my words. But, friend, words are all I have. So, please take these from my side.

Words are all it might take.

Asshrey ’21

Poem: A blank sky

I sit by the porch,

Thinking as usual

About nothing and everything

So the mind wanders to places

Places I’ve never seen before

What’s before comes later

In points on the sky before me

The longer I stare at it

Brighter these points shine

What are these points of interest?

In a second, as I see

There is nothing on the sky

What I thought to be stars

Are no more before me

And so I sleep with a blank sky


No one really talks of it,
Maybe I’m the one thinking
Picked me up as it lit,
Sun too had me blinking

Maybe I’m the one thinking

The green is more like itself,
And the red is no better
While blue is just myself,
I see the black as calmer

Maybe I’m the one blinking

Every mask has it’s face,
Ever face does it’s talking
Stories from this headspace,
And eyes go low haunting

Maybe I’m the one talking

Look at my artwork


Sink me into the grim clouds,
This void feels much filled
But, I don’t hate this damp

Hours to dream of summer

This void feels much filled,
Only takes me seconds to dream

At the closure of today,
I see no results to ear
Only to see there is delay,
To most of what I fear

Sink me into the grim,
So for once I don’t feel
So for once I don’t care
So for once I don’t scare

This void feels much unreal,
Only in my vision is where I see hope
Only in your smile is where I ear
But, in every dear word of mine
I do go past this fear

Look at Fertile