Beautiful bondage.

“I’m not a writer. I’m merely in bondage of the magic 

of words and the meaning 

they hold. 

I’m chained and bound to the mesmerising charm, 

of metaphors and rhymes, 

of twisted word-play 

and of simple quotes.

I’m only a victim of obsession 

and I’m only a helpless lover 

of everything that words are, 

the depth, the perspectives, 

and every little thing 

that leaves me in awe.

I’m simply in bondage, 

one that I don’t want to be delivered from. 

I’m a willing slave, I don’t want salvation from this beautiful burden 

of knowing and learning to express 

in a new way, with the same words, everyday. 

So when people ask my why

I don’t write everyday

I simply smile because 

my words are not my own.

They come from experiences.

The experiences I encounter 

in every little thing I do and I tell them this, 

“I only know one thing, that words 

are poetry, and poetry comes 

only from inspiration.

So the expectations of me, 

to write because I’m a writer, 

are unrealistic to me.

I cannot put my mind on paper

unless I have reason to.

Inspiration is the core of creation.”
Nothing else creates art. 

Art is not art, without a muse and so I will go onto the ends of the earth to find my muse 

and I will simply give ink to the musings of my wandering mind, 

until then, until I can,

I will not write 

but I will wait 

for my muse to come to me, 

or for me to find my muse.

-WANDERER // A r t & E x p e c t a t i o n 

Trees. 

I’m breaking 

little by little, 

pieces of me 

are falling apart 

and piling upon me.

I’m suffocating 

under my inability

to create, 

I’m surrounded, 

probably buried under chalk

but yet, empty is my slate.
Walking random streets, 

I try to make sense 

of the mundane 

and try to find a story 

in a stranger eyes.

I wonder if I’ll ever meet

myself, beyond disguise. 

My words are all I have left of me, 

and I feel silence creeping 

under my veins 

drying out the blood in me, 

creating a void, causing me pain.
Somehow I try to pacify

this breaking heart with words

that I know, don’t suffice, 

as they echo in their own emptiness 

yet I try to believe the alibi.
I look up at the sky, and find trees, 

breaking through the fall, 

and sketching on the sky.

Inexplicably I find some peace 

in the idea of the circle of life,

in the idea that they grow again, 

and if they can, I can try.
 -WANDERER // Marlyn Pereira  

Art block.

There are days where your mind is shadowed and there is no clarity. There is absolutely no way you can write, paint, sing, make music, dance or create art. Whatever that is, that you do.

On these days, you can’t force art out of your system. You cannot create something you love doing so much, forcefully, without genuine will.

Art is like the wind, it is inspired by a various factors or elements, and it flows. It simply flows. Let art flow through you when it is meant to, because it will only cause you to feel incompetent and low or stressed when you’re unable to.

Art comes from the heart, it comes from inspiration. Don’t worry. You cannot run out of talent. The thing about your talent is that how much you give away, that much it grows. On these days when you can’t create, simply don’t.

Don’t go looking for your muse. You will find it just in time.

-WANDERER || Marlyn Pereira