I hope you know that struggling to cope up with isn't a sign of weakness. You have every right to find hope. You have every right to find that teeny tiny piece of happiness. Go ahead and, listen to that one particular song over and over again. read that one meme that makes you laugh. watch episodes of "FRIENDS" or "THE OFFICE". order a pizza for yourself.
Sure, some won't get you or your ways. Might call you weak.
Don't let them get into your head, They have no idea what you've been through. They have no idea what you go through on a daily basis. They don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. They don't know what rock bottom feels like. They don't know what being alone feels like.
I know. I know what it's like. the anxiety, the pressure, the discomfort, I know what each and every one of those things feel like.
There was no one for me when I needed to hear this the most. So here I am, Telling you that you have every right to shun those who ridicule you for appreciating these little things.
Colour is the touch to the eye, music to the deaf, a word out of the darkness.
Humans get hungry for blue, It seems: to hold the sea in their hands, To wear the sky in their hair, To drape themselve in the hazy blue of distant mountains. Blue is more than a colour: It is a feeling. We don’t say that we feel orange or purple, But we say we feel blue when our souls are sad and heavy. We play or sing or listen to the blues to express this sensation. Like any colour, it cannot be adequately described with words, only experienced, known through the eyes and the soul..
Do you know these days? These days when the alarm rings, and there's no energy left to get up because you think that today nothing will change and nothing good will happen anyway? I had that feeling when I woke up this morning. The dream I had dreamt passed into the next day without any transition, and I cried myself awake. The alarm rang. I felt horrible, and I didn't know where I was. My dreams have always been very vivid, very real – it can be a blessing and a curse. Today it had been a curse.
Usually, you cry yourself to sleep – but on particular days, you cry yourself awake. Years ago, which I can count on the fingers of both of my hands, I would have felt very much at home in this feeling. I would have wallowed in it. Melancholy had been my very best friend for oh so many years. But it's not like that anymore. Life is radiant and colourful. Even though there are days that seem dull and grey. But even those days will pass.
Joy is an active choice. Sometimes you have to even fight for it. But one day, you will be richly gifted. Then you will gain something that weighs more than all the loneliness, the guilt, the sadness: Pure life.
Some time ago, I consciously decided against surrendering to the grey within me. And I promised myself to leave my bed every day, even on the days that seemed dull and grey, and to throw myself into the day the same way I wanted to throw myself into life. Life is the only thing we can call our very own. And if the grey appears to be too grey, one has to show one's true colours. Inside and out.
And that's why I wear red Because a pop of colour can frighten Away the grey.
We all know the situation in Afghanistan. I know from afar a poem and a hashtag won't help. But I wanted to write something. I don't know how long this "Josh" of mine will last, but I can't help and feel sorry, for them who kill for the God, as if your God asked for bloodshed, as if "he" hates women and their freedom, as if "he" can't take a joke. I feel sorry for those who devour other humans for their own pleasure (I read Sanam's post and it hits hard)
I just feel so small and helpless and frustrated, that I wanted to write. I don't know if you guys have read "The Kite Runner" If not do read it. Few references in the poem are from that book.
I know this is all over the place, my thoughts are and this poems is. I'm restless and worried.
One day if everything stops ticking like a dying clock and I'm caught in the little gasps of time, pull me out of a vacuum of trembling reveries as fast as you can, Never push the red button and call for an ambulance, even if what's left of me is a bag of skin and bones and a trail of cursed heartbeats.
I'm tired of asking the nights why songs die in a middle of a rhyme, why my life is a broken twig of expectations soaked in salty whine, wake me up with a magenta slap, rescue me from a world full of teeth waiting in the thick slabs of silence, eager to devour my flickering sanity whole.
I didn't want to stay you were itching to leave. So it was fair to divide the joys and thorns one by one. I picked up the moments, you went for the stale fragrances. I chose the warmth of the hugs, you opted for the long unbroken silences. I packed every box with the aroma of lost togetherness, cherry picked with laughter, you rolled our tapestries of promises with wires of doubts to be donated. I stowed away a potpourri of disappointments under the blue sweater you gifted me. You carried a carton of my unrealistic expectations and dumped it outside the front door. I let the window chime from our first vacation hang in the balcony. You threw the dead plant of our commitments to end a messy chapter.
You and I were two great people not in a great bond, just flush the bitterness so tomorrow when spring comes it gets a rousing welcome.