An old diaries, some broken petals Endeavouring the weights of old art She writes in shades of sights And speaks in tongues of heart Waking by LA TOUR Sounds tempting as ever But so does the voices Of her friends and mother Another world resides In her mind and pages She have longed to breathe A different air for ages Stuck with an old diary But in love with petal Wanna run and wanna stay Just another nightingale Stuck in her nest With a dream to soar in sky And leave the worries of rest Perhaps one day She'd leave her nest Or maybe she'll fall In love with the rest
Back in 2nd grade, when grandma passed away, you got me a set of Aesop's fables and told me that it's okay to escape the reality, at times. But today, when once again reality resurfaced it's horrid face, the lands of Arabian Nights refused to let me through their gates. And I couldn't help but wonder, if getting shunned down by everything you love, a part of growing up. Or, is it me who has somehow, finally learnt how to fall out of love?
You used to come home carrying my favorite ice cream whenever I'd ruin a test. You told me that failing a paper does not mean that I'll be a failure at everything else. You made me believe that things won't abandon me if I be patient with them. If I keep trying for them. But, I wish you had told me that at times, it's okay to give up too. Because, entangled in this web of dreams that shattered and people who left, I yearn to learn how to let go.
You chose a hostel room with numerous windows in it because you knew that the confines of four walls often end up making me feel suffocated. But, you forgot to tell me how to breathe when the windows themselves try to smother me. I wish you had told me what to do, when it's not the lack of space that's choking me, but rather, the excess of it.
I wish you hadn't hoped that I'd be special enough for the universe to go easy on me. I wish you had made me see the world as it really is, rather than the one you keep asking for me in your daily morning prayers.