THEINDIAN

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Friday, February 17, 2012

The Freelancer

Posted on 9:03 AM by Unknown

Being a freelancer is being a free man. It’s a state of being where one is no more pressurized under the sulking comments of the boss. Instead, in the freelance world you own your talent, your life, and your self respect. As a freelancer you can sell your works or services to one or several different organizations. Freelancing can be of diverse classes. Some offer photographs, some paintings, some art works, and some others their writing skills. And with this categorization being identified, let me confess, Bountiful Word belong to the last category. We offer freelance writing.

Sir Walter Scott in his work Ivanhoe, the novel that told the story of a Saxon young man, who fell out of grace with his father due to his affiliations with the Norman king, mentioned the word freelance for the first time. Then it was a hyphenated word, “free-lance”. In the novel the word indicated, the lance who declared himself aloof from any lord’s service.

The word traversed its path in the sea of time and reached the contemporary meaning of a verb and a noun. A freelancer is someone who finds his bread with the sweat of his brow alone; a perfect profession for all those who believe in themselves and trust the wisdom every risk offers them.

The freelance writer, therefore, theoretically is an individualist, and at the same time a sociable helper, who at time of your need comes knocking at your doorstep in order to help you with your burdensome tasks. He or she has her amazing skills and a determination that can only be seen equaled in the fluency of words that flow from their pen.  

From: Bountiful Word
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Sunday, February 12, 2012

A River of Words-VI

Posted on 7:52 AM by Unknown
“Love is depth and without self-consciousness one is sure to be drowned.”—Anu.  
Courtesy: Google Images 
VI

Once a drop of dew fell,
Upon the watery surface,
Of a lake, calm;
Shattering the moon into—
Shards of souls:
I swam across,
Upon the driftwood of words.

With this poem, A River of Words disappears in the sea of your minds, readers. I am grateful for all the encouraging reviews and comments on this latest series of i-poems. 
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Friday, February 10, 2012

A River of Words-V

Posted on 7:05 AM by Unknown
“Love should compliment freedom; but when it binds may you find the courage to be free.”—Anu.
Courtesy: Google Images 
 V

I die in this poem,
And resurrect in each—
Of its words.
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Wednesday, February 8, 2012

A River of Words-IV

Posted on 7:11 AM by Unknown

“The boulders of emotion are blockades to the path towards the depth of the Universe, which begins in our souls.”—Anu. 

Courtesy: Google Images
IV

What is written is not poetry,
But what is felt.
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Monday, February 6, 2012

A River of Words -III

Posted on 6:36 AM by Unknown
“Love is the name of that bright sun, which leaves every other source of light invisible, including your eyes.”—Anu. 
Image Courtesy: Google
III

I stand upon the bridge,
Between hope and loss.
They say I am a word,
With meaning, though invisible,
In the garden of unwritten signs. 
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Friday, February 3, 2012

A River of Words -II

Posted on 10:52 PM by Unknown

“The benefit of single life is the depth and brightness one observes in the dreams about love.”—Anu. 

II

The burn of the love unsaid,
The tear in the extreme intimacy,
The obsessive comfort of the hopelessness,
The miracle of life,
Hope, joy, smile and you;
All are poetry. 
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Wednesday, February 1, 2012

A River of Words

Posted on 9:00 AM by Unknown
“Are you in a relationship?” A friend of mine asks. “Are you in love?” He says he has proof of facts. There is a certainty in his eyes, and a mocking gesture in one corner of his lips. I can see what initiates the question; the pleasure of digging a writer’s personal life. He says he read all my works, especially my love poems and particularly likes the series of i-poems entitled The Unsaid. I smell danger. Here I am, a single and not in a relationship yet, ‘accused’ of being in love! I can see a misunderstanding breeding in the air. So I tell him the truth, “Yes. I am in love.”

There is a gleam in his eyes, which suggests the happiness of victory. I continue, “Would you like to know the name of my lover?”
“Oh no, dear. I was just enquiring. But you confessed everything without hesitation. Well, there is nothing wrong in being in love, by the way,” he has that same smile, I noticed.  

“No, my friend. You should know. You are very close to me, close enough to talk my heart out to you,” This time, I have a smile on my face. “I must tell you the name of my lover; she is none other than Literature.”

The friend of mine was happy, because he now had an answer; I too, for I had confessed my love once again.

Here are a new series of i-poems. All of them from this new bunch of word petals are coloured exclusively with love. They all carry the fragrance of poetry within poetry. A poem is written for the sake of those words, which could not be spoken otherwise. I hope you would accept my lover into the region of kindness in your heart.  
Courtesy: Yahoo Images

I
Poetry is serendipity,
The calm of the river,
And its destiny in the salinity.
Poetry is the summer rain-
The river of words carries.
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