To commit or to refrain,
The very thought often causes anxiety and pain
The constant dilemma,
Makes decision-making a huge enigma
Isn’t it better to be free sans commitment,
To have no strings attached in any involvement?
Seems wiser than to face disappointments
And nurse one’s wounds amidst songs of lament
To commit is to give your word
So stand by it whether come storms or sword
To commit is to take responsibility
Shirk not in the pretext of some inability
Commitment does pose challenges,
As it cuts a part of ‘self’ – the ‘me’ that rules,
But it doesn’t aim to devalue you
It aims to add value, instead
Think before you commit
Don’t let any pressure shape your commitment
But when you do commit
Live by it till your last breath permits.
This is for those who know what it feels like to be betrayed, to be treated like you are invisible; Who know how it feels when you have a gut-wrenching pain and feel your innards burning to ashes; Who know what it feels like to give someone your heart, mind, body, love, and soul and in turn feel empty, powerless and unloved; Who know how to live every single second with the one for whom you are just a feeling of nihility; Who know what it takes to put on a smile despite everything wrong in your life, every day; Who know how it feels to cry in the darkness just so that no one sees your pain as they wouldn’t understand, they would judge you and hold you wrong; Who know how to pretend and say “oh nothing at all, I’m OK!” And smile again.
You are not alone!
This goes out to all who are awake in the middle of the night and probably wondering the same thing and who knows how this feels.
Zenith to nadir I fall
yet pretend to smile,
paint my face with glittering
glee, hiding the pain inside.
Rock bottom I hit
yet pretend to stand,
conceal my scars with a mask
of phony pride, as if
everything was planned.
I pant, I heave, I cry, I scream,
yet for the world I smile,
never show the ugly side
of my soul, so senile.
But, it’s okay not to be fine,
you can run, shout, be yourself as
you own no one a single petty dime.
Born in a cradle,
she had to handle
the burdens of the world
known as well as hidden to her;
all she craved was freedom from the burdens;
unable to endure the pain of the obligations,
she went down to complications ;
worsened with time and tide, as it never waited for none;
she turned numb, with every sensation;
until when she realised it was not a chance to win;
and then came a day ;
where she decided to dwell in her dreams ;
like she weaved her screams to be the rope of hope
finally, as she burned her burdens;
untangled herself from the chain of expectations;
she liberated herself from the dungeons of obligations,
no more becoming the caged scholar,
to the bird with the wings of imaginations…
- An untold Saga of a woman.
For every mother that is greeted today,
There’s someone yearning for a child
For every child that greets the mother today,
There’s someone yearning for a mother
For every mother who feels proud of her womb today,
There’s someone unable to carry a foetus
For every child who feels the comfort of a mother’s bosom,
There’s someone awaiting with outstretched arms
For every mother who wipes her child’s tears,
There’s someone whose hands have none to wipe
For every child who has a mother to lean on in sickness,
There’s someone longing for those nursing hands
For one such mother without a child,
Can you be a child?
For one such child without a mother,
Can you be a mother?
Oh, dear moon,
send me a soothing hymn
for my melancholic tune.
Tell me how you manage to be so
tranquil while you brew
in the concoction of
serendipity and misfortunes,
tell me how you keep your glow, so soothing,
while you spin around a world so fictitious and phoney,
which finds satisfaction in destructions.
Oh, dear moon,
send me a hint of your flavour
so that I can bloom.
Alone you are yet sufficed with valour,
send me your courage,
send me your calm for I am filled to the brim
with malice and rage.
Oh, dear moon,
send me your aura, so pure
lit the spark in me now
for I am dead on my feet.
God’s creation is so beautiful and sometimes it teaches us invaluable lessons for life. And as I was pondering about a shining moon in a darkened night, I came up with these inspiring thoughts that soaked my heart and mind which I expressed through a poem.
Friends! Never stop getting inspired and motivated looking at God’s beautiful creation.
“Give thy thoughts no tongue” – William Shakespeare
It is said that half of a person’s beauty comes from their tongue. An amazing truth about the tongue is, it takes years to learn how to use it but a lifetime to learn when and where to use it.
Here’s a free verse poem on the tongue:
moist and pink
it’s a small soft flesh
without a bone,
but sturdy enough
to twist the words and turn
smitten by the briney
winds of the sea
it licks the lips with haste,
savours the flavour
beackon for more
it lives mostly for taste
but don’t be fooled
with its smooth texture
if you haven’t seen
what it can do,
it’s as mighty and evil
as one can get
tongue is a powerful tool
it speaks your mind
also your heart
sometimes chatter idly
bringing on mischief,
or time the words
to persuade a crowd
and if it slips
can ruin the world
nerves make it dry
otherwise drools amply
it’s an organ of flair
Connoisseur in matters of taste;
it bends and curls
in raspberry twirl
when it devours another lips
always willing to assist
in matters of the heart
hold it, bite it
if you’re feeling too sharp
tie it with words
it’ll mock your heart
maybe it’s forked
making you lie
put it in your cheek
it’ll play the part
don’t let it go astray
tame it with care
teach it the language
of fairness and quiet
it’ll know what to speak
when and where.
Who am I, this I always wonder.
to this enigma I succumb and my will to explore, I surrender.
Am I wrong in doing so?
should I try to solve this steady and slow?
Known by many names and with
identity of people’s choice,
I may be loud and obnoxious or
an epitome of grace and poise.
But who am I?
With this thought constantly
brewing in my head,
I try to figure this out from
the dawn’s first ray till,
exhausted, I lay on the bed.
Do I have to be recognised
for everything I do?
or should I be just satisfied
and to myself, be true?
Recognition by whom;
By the ones who lift my spirits
or the ones who wish my doom?
Recognition as what;
As a person, a mother, a daughter, a friend, a wife, a lover, an inspiration, a poetess…
as with all these roles I play, with pride, I strut.