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Here's what I learned in 7 years of blogging

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7 years ago I started my blog. And I entered the magical world of writing. I was living in the Boston suburbs. After finishing my work and household chores, I still had some spare time. I remember the exact moment I clicked the 'B' icon on Google and I created a Blogger account. I knew only two Bloggers that time - Amitabh Bachchan and Lisa Ray. I had no idea what it takes to be an accomplished blogger, but I was excited to be a part of a community which is independent and expresses its views without any inhibition. I must say, it has been an amazing journey only because I have learned so much.

I started by writing poetry, then I started writing articles and now I can write anything. Professionally, I am a content writer for a couple of websites. I ghostwrite for two more agencies based out of North America. I write sponsored articles on my blog. I tweet, post Facebook statutes, answer Quora questions, and mention brands on Instagram for money. Brands even consult me for social…
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Savera by Anusha Mani - A Song that is Poetry in Every Sense of the Word

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I rekindled my love for music in October. I'm an insomanic and music is the best company at 2 in the night. I'm alone, heartbroken and at crossroads in life - now imagine the intensity with which I listen to it. But let me brag first - I listen to music with the kind of sincerity and devotion that may surprise you - and I'm very proud of it.
If you will give me a song, I will give you an exact scenario which suits it. No, I don't do - this is a shower song, this is a long-drive song thing - that's amateurish. I do - this is a song I would listen when I'm back from a date, removing my makeup, getting ready for the shower, and humming it like an anthem. Believe me, this is the simplest of scenarios I'm presenting here. My descriptions become more vivid, dirtier and fun. Those who have heard my descriptions would smile if they are reading this post. But this post is not about that. This post is about a song which is poetry in every sense of the word.
I'm tal…
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My poetry is not for foreplay. It's for after sex.

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My poetry is not for foreplay. It's for after sex. When you'll light the Marlboro and move to your side of the bed, my poems will be the breath of fresh air in a room filled with smoke. But do not underestimate me. My poems won't be sweet, gentle or mellow. They will be brazen, brutal and bold. I will present them on a sharply-edged knife. The blood on the knife will be hot. Fresh from the wounds I don't allow to heal. You will take a drag from Marlboro - but served with my sinful words - you will feel as if you've snorted cocaine.
You will not get high, though. You will see the world in a different light. Murky lanes leading to posh hotels, board rooms and high-rise apartment buildings. In one of those aesthetically decorated rooms, you will see a man f*****g someone's life just for a little pleasure. You will see him getting hard on someone's misery. A woman pleasuring herself while watching a wrecked home that she takes all credit for. To watch someone se…
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