Articles, essays, poems, short stories and tips on writing

From the distance I could see her black robes swaying in the company of the wind,  and the beauty of her skin, that beautiful marbled skin,  of which I many times could not its enchantment resist, now she is standing there looking at the distance as if time had never passed, my eyes go through her constitution, and she senses me. Her glassy eyes wondered why, her lips mumbled my name, and from the distance she would beckon me, except that I cannot go back to her. Her flowers have long ago withered, yet still she keeps them in her grasp, and yet I wonder, she has not forgot me, and so she mouths it, her keys and chains are still in her other hand,  but if I return, she shall embrace me and dwell again within me, and once again I would love her, for her sadness would grasp my soul and my heart, those two things which she loves and would treasure the most, that not even death would be able to snatch it. From the distance I saw her, her being pervaded in lamentations, all in ...

At this stage, I believe there is plenty of information out there which you may or may not be familiar with. From the early stages at school, we are taught, in many people's cases, to deploy our skills in the shape of essays, short stories, poems, creative and free writing, for instance. Many have gone through these tasks as if in a battlefield or as if they were being dragged out of bed on a rainy Sunday morning, but let me tell you this: no matter your current or past situation, writing is an important skill to sharpen and develop, mainly for our own benefit. Don't you think? As with many other sources of art in which our feelings and emotions are portrayed in different mediums, writing is certainly not an exception. It is almost therapeutic to the point that we set free our imagination through sensory experiences embodied in words and imagery. It is liberating, since there is an outlet for those feelings bubbling inside of us, begging to be released, and any form of art or c...

I run through paths of rainbow, catching memories, resonant I spread the wings of my childhood and I fly, an endless flight of ice and drops of crystal water, and while the music sounds in echoes, I let myself go, carefree. I do not stop, my soul is set free in seas of music and dreams of eras, and the places I go so unknown, personal, imposing and overclothed in  might, as I walk around, I encounter what I thought I already had, as I walk around I see you, with wings of forgetfulness and forgiveness, impeccable bathed in roses and jazmin, Wings spreaded, take flight, impose the sunset to stay still as we bathe in its light, sublime. poem written by jrqc  --------------------------------------- ABOUT THE POEM: As I wrote those lines above, a sense of tranquility came over me while my mind flew away to places that somehow I sensed I have been to. It might sound weird, foolish and even crazy, although I am pretty sure someone out there shares the same view as me.  The poem ...

  I am giving this format a try. It is one of the pieces I have written though in video format, using Pictory.ai which is, as far as I have realized a fantastic tool.

  CONVERSING And the room was dimmed by the pale light of a candle which cast his curved shadow against the wall. Even his shadow seemed more alive than he ever had been. "Pale Tortured Blue" being played, And it crushed him, And he knew it, And it tortured him, And he knew it, It was painful, And he knew it. "Your soul seems to want to leave the cage of your body, my dear." "I see you're back after such a long time." "And I see you have missed me dearly." The bottle of darkened red wine standing right in front of him as he took it and gently poured some of its content in a glass. He then poured some more in another glass as he lit up a thin menthol cigarette. Oh, and the melody of the song playing sadness and sorrow, a festival of tears and pain engulfing his being, tightening around his already shattered heart, And it crushed him, And his soul crying for mercy, And the prison of his body keeping it locked, And he knew it.   "I have per...

"Will you stay with me?, Will you not forget me?" - A trickle of bitter tears ran through her cheeks as she struggled to mutter those words. She was awfully aware of the dream she was having, so realistic that it hurt her, for she knew her beloved one was no more. Anne Marie suddenly woke up with a gasp, realizing the tears she had shed and the pain still in her heart and soul. She looked at the the other side of her bed: empty, vacant... it was just a void, not only there but in her surrendered life as well. "How could you fight against something that is not visible that tears your soul apart and you do not even know how to collect yourself?" she whispered sadly.  She dragged herself out of bed, the daylight was no more, just the clarity of a moonlit sky which was slowly being invaded by rolling grey clouds. As she gazed up, she whispered his name, the one name that she had treasured for so long and would not let go. Her thoughts still were a reminiscence of days p...

Taking the fifty-minute-long ride metro, just to walk three more minutes out and then waiting for other twelve minutes for the bus home to arrive can be of course exhausting at times. Don't get me wrong or judge me just yet, the thing is that I have had thought that living in a large city slowly takes your joy away, as if it was a vampire trying to suck out the life of its victim. Perhaps I am overdoing it or overthinking it, or I might even be at fault for letting myself be an easy target for the city to slowly consume me from within. In my case, I believe that it is hard to point my finger at the "right" culprit...I guess it is a combination of factors and experiences that slowly accumulate in the process of living my life, or trying my best to live it and, the final result seems to be just plain exhaustion.  One of those evenings, the bus came in and I sat down by the window. Some seconds later, an old lady sat next to me. She was just another passenger like many other...