Abhijit Naskar's Blog - Posts Tagged "writer"

No such thing as an uncreative heart,
If you are alive, you are creative.
Unless cluttered by status quo,
Every heart is by nature creative.

Heart alive is heart creative,
Creativity is a sign of life.
Uncreativity is pulselessness,
Symptom of a heart anemic of life.

I am not creative, I’m just alive,
Creativity is just a byproduct.
If you don’t impose limits of norm,
Every blood vessel is creation-duct.

Asking AI to help you
write, is not writing.
Asking AI to tune your
voice, is not singing.

Asking AI to help you
paint, is not painting.
Asking AI to help you
code, is not coding.

Asking AI to help you
create, is not creativity.
Asking AI to build your
dream, is not dreaming.

Asking AI to narrate
books, is not storytelling.
AI oughta do manual labor,
so humans can do the creating.

Write till you drop dead,
that’s my motto of writing.
I don’t do promotions,
have never done book signings.

In fact, once I release a work,
I forget and move on to the next.
In an industry driven by book sales,
My principle is, publish and forget.

I never remember how much I have written,
though the vastness is staggering to many.
All I can think of, how much I have to write,
before I drift into the slumber of non-entity.

At birth we become elements to entity,
upon death the entity reverts to elements.
Make sure to make your trip mean something,
more reason to transcend foolish containments.

One pen can defeat a thousand guns,
that’s why books get banned, not guns.
There’s nothing more dangerous than
books that radicalize you against war.

When you take away fear from the citizens,
you take away their initiative for war.
And when citizens no longer conform to war,
that’s the biggest threat to political power.

You cannot ask citizens to pay for the bombs,
if they believe more in peace than paranoia.
Stupid taxpayers are the biggest sponsors of war,
patriotism is genocide, military is massacre.

I have zero tolerance for any civilian, politician
or scholar who takes pride in the military –
go back to the jungle, because that’s where you
belong, with the rest of your animal society.

I have made a few amendments in my own canon,
I don’t mean going back and removing passages,
as if they never existed, for that’s deception,
rather I point out my errors myself, so you know,
I ain’t infallible, on occasion I have been wrong.

My main two mistakes were with America ‘n soldiers,
I looked upon both with respect in my early years,
until it dawned on me, America is a terrorist state,
and all soldiers are mere puppets to warmongers.

All governments are a facade,
all politicians are merely actors.
In a civilized world citizen is the leader,
obsolete is the profession of world leaders.

In a civilized world I could spend my days writing
mushy poetry, sparing the headache of human rights.
But alas, that is not the case, hence, I’m restless,
sleepless, vacationless, in kindling the human light.

Put your conspiracy theories aside, I’ll tell you why.

Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet)

When I started writing, I had a partner,
I had plans to settle in Sofia with her.
But then I lost my link to the Balkans, when
she grew weary and took the hand of another.

I couldn’t write a single word for days,
but then, I let the god complex unleashed.
That’s about when my writing skyrocketed,
as the heartbreak jolted my brain
into a hyper-publishing engine.

I had all the time in the world,
and enough pain to fuel my pen.
Every time I got my heart broken,
it benefitted my mission.

First time someone broke my heart,
I dropped out of engineering
and emerged as the Monk Scientist.
Second time when I lost my love,
Planet Earth received the Poet Apocalypse.

The pen is my paradise,
the pen is my grave.
Everybody has all the answers,
I seem to have only questions.

Good thing, I don’t know how to write,
methods are obstacle to my madness.
I’m vast enough to contain the world,
asylum pills don’t work on pilgrim brains.

My pen never runs out of ink, because
the pen is an extension of my anatomy.
Madness is the first sign of sanity,
oneness is the seed of infinity.

Stereotypes are sanity of the jungle,
prejudice is sacred in the animal kingdom.
Flags are the poison, cosmos is (my) kin –
I am no stereotype, I am the Prototype Human.