Thank you. Thank you for being you. You were trying. There were ups and downs, then some highs and some extreme lows. There were days when I felt hopeless and then there were days when I felt that there is light and all I need to do is just walk ahead and find it.
Thank you for letting me grow, giving me the courage to let go of things that are no longer needed. Thank you for those experiences that helped me have a new perspective about life. Thank you for the amazing new friends, the amazing new possibilities. I grew so much as a writer this year, met some amazing people, had meaningful conversations, travelled to see a different part of world, gave more time for family and healed some old wounds.
On those days when I felt that life was going nowhere I felt the tiny sliver of hope that some amazing thing is waiting around the corner. On those days when I felt that I couldn't take the next breathe I was reminded of my resilient spirit. On those days when I just wanted to end things I was reminded as to why I held on so long. Thank you for being you so that I could grow, evolve, learn more about myself, love myself and just be me.
You will forever be cherished. I'm excited for this new dawn and I welcome the new endless possibilities. A new year, one more year older and hopefully more wiser. Thank you. Now it's time to bid farewell cause something amazing is just waiting to be born.
my mother never called me beautiful; she said beauty was a farce, that it will fade and all that you can have is your character. she taught me not to raise my voice to have the right posture to be polite to elders to be respectful, always always respectful! she told me that patience and my ability to look beyond myself should be my greatest virtue that I should be selfless. my mother's heritage is in the list of things I couldn't do and shouldn't do while growing up. in the four walls of her home she was chained having forgotten how to dream my mother set the standards with which my life had to be measured. I don't resent her rather I mourn the spirit that she keeps carefully concealed within herself, that wild untameable spirit that might have helped her fly high in the sky. I wonder why she felt she couldn't dream, maybe cause no one told her that even sky is not the limit. my mother's legacy is deference to the society, their customs and traditions. it's the collective pain of her and all those who came before her, the spirits of all those women in my family who had to bow down to patriarchy, that wild spirit which shines brightly in their eyes but concealed behind a veil and never finds the courage to break their cocoon and come forth. my mother does not understand why I don't want the things others want, why I'm a rebel, why the conventional norms of society is abhorred by me. the society has moulded her so much that she has forgotten what being free is. when I want to soar in the sky she unknowingly wants to chain me, for the fear of unknown has been deep rooted in her mind and she does not know how to cut that tree down. when I am ready to fly high in the sky I will take a second to mourn the loss of her spirit who was forced to be voiceless and concealed as if a sin. my mother never called me beautiful, even today she does not. but that's okay. my beauty is in the courage that she couldn't muster, the courage I draw from the collective cry of the spirit of every women that was shackled to feed the needs of this society. . legacy // paro . Image via weheartit .
I have always wondered how do we stop loving someone, maybe the truth is we don't; we just bundle up all our love and then bury it in some dark abandoned corner of our heart and then gradually forget all about it. if we dug up that grave one day, that love will bloom again like wildflowers and spread rapidly across the vestiges of our heart. maybe moving on is a lie we tell ourselves, a lie that is comforting. a lie we tell in order to make peace. maybe we never stop loving someone; a piece of our heart will always beat for them and all we do is learn to live without them. then eventually the indifference sets in and that love is lost in the pages of an unfinished poetry; lost but still so much alive, yet no longer needed or acknowledged, just a memory of something that was a beautiful forever, imperfect, incomplete and an eternity wrapped in the exhale of time. . moving on // paro . #writersnetwork#pod#readwriteunite#mirakee#MirakeeWorld#mirakeeworld#bombgang_committee#bgg#bgc#love#heart#heartbreak#writer#soul#love#lovepoem#movingon
I found you in the space between our broken silences, in those words you never said and in the secrets that your eyes hid. I never knew someone who reveled in the brokenness of one's own self and I realised that there is beauty in such a state. our hearts were unruly mess, the wrecked pieces yet to be put back together like those huge jig-saw puzzles. we never made sense, unable to fit, the empty spaces filled with equally empty and loud silences, yet there was some semblance of completeness that made us who we are. we were two stars in the sky, pulsing to the beat of melancholy that filled our veins like liquid gold. I found the shattered and fragmented pieces of you beautiful, while you called my inability to love my greatest virtue. I don't know if this was love, we were two creatures forged in the fire of our broken hearts, refusing to open the walls and let each other in, wary of the love that were like vines spreading across our hearts. I think I did love you, but with an apathy that was mixed with the denial that love was possible. we were trying to hold onto each other even when we were clearly not meant to. our hearts are mottled with scars that we received fighting those battles that we lost. maybe we just foolishly loved holding onto broken things cause we see the glimpses of our true self reflected in those jagged pieces; beautiful, raw and honest. . broken love // paro
I looked at my unfinished pages of poetry and wondered why everything is about a lost love. amidst the pages I have petals of roses though dried, their fragrance exists along the edges almost like a ghost that haunts my dreams. the roses were a wayward gift from a love that almost feels like a half finished thought that's at the tip of my tongue I can feel it teasing my senses. all the unfinished verses begin with him yet I do not complete them, quiet like the unfinished chapters in our story. my memories have cobwebs along the edges. the pictures have glitched over the years and there are big blurred spaces in them. It's almost as if my heart is slowly writing them out of existence. I always paint a pretty picture of him, like how he was a benevolent soul, a great love that changed my entire being, and such other deceptive pretty words. sometimes I wonder if I distort the truth to pacify the hurt that still has it's roots somewhere deep in my heart I guess I'll never know the truth. I always try to finish those verses but every time they feel foreign and leave a bad after taste in my thoughts. maybe they are best left in those brittle pages of my forgotten book of poetry, unfinished, incomplete, fragmented, quiet like how our love is.
Some of you may think I write some pretty good Haiku, well guess what, there's a Haiku Queen out there, if you don't already know her, she is @llewravenpoetry, her Haiku is extremely poetic! She is absolutely a must read! #haiku
With spirits high, she willingly her tears dries, never to complain or cry, yet none hear her silent sigh.
Always wearing a smiling face, ever ready to run life's race, sacrifices in multiple ways, yet none hear her silent sighs.
So artistically her tears conceals, beneath her beautiful smile happiness reveals, the secret of every family lies, in none other than her silent sighs.
What does The Almighty think, when into this world 'A MOTHER' HE brings, He created such an individual absolutely selfless, rendering herself thus concealing her silent sighs.
A person with self desires and ambitions too, yet for her family goes to any extent, putting aside her desires so, what would the world be without her abilities, yet none to hear her through her silent sighs.
Body, soul and spirit living for her family, do we ever take time to value her sacrifices any, slits her body happily to bring forth offsprings, smiles with wet eyes at the sight of her off spring, can we ever sense her silent sighs?
Can we make ourselves conscious, and realize how much to us she's precious, let's awake and notice her selfless duties, let's listen from our heart her silent sighs. yes, let's listen from our heart her silent sighs.
Copyright is the weapon that every writer should hold. Be kind enough to credit the work of others. Be it words, image or any form, which the owner of said subject has ownership right. Always be you. Be original. That is what makes you special.
We understand that many a times our thought and words clash with other known and unknown writers. Unintentionally, work gets plagiarized. But thats the way it is. The one who intiatites first and copyrights the subject becomes rightful owner.
We support and encourage writers and the originality of words. We do cross check plagiarism, but still incase if any writeup is plagiarism. Speak up and report on the post. It will be helpful for us and everyone to fight against plagiarism. Be polite in your words while reporting against plagiarism, as the writer might not be aware of the copyright. As someone good has said always give a second chance.
Do participate in our daily thought of the day challenge(#tod_wt). And daily challenges. ____________________________________________ We have initiated an Anthology :
FEAR FOR DEATH AND DEAD THINGS
Visit our page for more details. Last date of submission is 30th November 2018.
FIGHT AGAINST LONELINESS
Visit our page for more details. Last date of submission is 15th December 2018. __________________________________________ Published Anthology : Constellation of The Bleeding Ink