Changing Sides, Changing Tides

Prompt: And yet she felt that, however she might revile and mock his image, her anger was also a form of homage. She had left the classroom in disdain that was not wholly sincere, feeling that perhaps the secret lay behind those dark eyes upon which his long lashes flung a quick shadow. This anger against him was nameless and offended her baffled pride.

George Baker got down on his knees in the midst of a roaring crowd, that he himself organised, to propose to the lovely, Christine Scott. Back then he said, “Christine, I will love you and honor you all the days of my life, will you be my beautiful wife?” And while Christine saw the love of her life promise himself to her, the crowd stood witness to a union of two beautiful lives. 
Michael was 3 years old now and had learnt to walk just enough to get him from one room to the other and innocent that he was, he seemed he knew what was happening between his parents. Michael could guess when something wasn't right and when tension grew and he cried at the feel of it. He cried when his mother cried and he cried when his dad yelled.

George and Christine found themselves in a beautiful apartment in Manhattan. Their home was exactly the way Christine dreamed it to be: a place where they both had reason to be a part of each other’s busy lives. For what can a man and woman do to survive this increasingly tough economy and still give time to each other?  They can come home to each other. And that’s what they did.

Every evening Christine came home from another day at the office and awaited George’s homecoming.  Her colleagues at Harwick industries, a growing name in the textile producing sector, had all been there when Christine threw her bouquet. They were all there and they were happy for her, just as she was.

And when George came home from his real estate job, there was nothing more welcoming than his wife’s sweet embrace.

The neighbors swore by their intimacy saying it was the only sound close to noise that they ever heard from the Baker’s room.  They were one of the newest couples on the block and had people’s attention wherever they went. The Bakers were recognized by the nearby coffee shops, the launders, the diners and the cinema.  There was just one more thing left to complete them and that came in the form of a surprise.

The Bakers now had a little one to hold who shared not only their surname but also their looks. Little baby, Michael had his father’s eye lashes and his mother’s pink nose. He had his father’s jaw but his mother’s lips.  ‘Rosy’ is what they called his cheeks, but George preferred the word ‘handsome’.

Having a child may put a woman’s life on hold for nine months and definitely bring a number of changes into daily living but these things are a given.  A child brings along with him a number of responsibilities on the part of his parents and also an amount of liability. These things are a small price to pay for what you get in return: Love.

George and Christine loved Michael deeply. 

When Christine broke the news to George, he picked her up and spun her around and then got down on his knees once more and kissed her womb, the womb that carried his promise of love to her. They loved Michael much before he was given into their hands

Michael may have been their pride and joy, but no one can blame this darling for what was to become of them 5 years from then. Poor Michael, he was too young to know.

Life became difficult, as it does with most newly born parents. Diapers were just one of the problems.  Savings, work hours, baby sitters,  finances, groceries, medical check-ups, toys, the clutter, the mess, the unorganized sleep schedules, the crying, the feeding, the weight,  the diets, the time, it was all a part of life, but not the kind that they were prepared for.

Christine was at the peak of her career and was soon to receive a promotion while George’s job suffered.  Every hour that he worked payed for the child’s needs. Every penny he made was now either in savings or in spending on a wife and child while real estate wasn't doing too well or maybe it was just him.

Stress and uncertainty in a work life can take a big toll on personal living and Christine saw the worst of it. It was difficult now to keep the romance alive between the two. Why alive? She couldn't even find the time to think of it, for no fault of hers that is. Between a demanding job and a mother's trials, the last thing she had time for was a candle lit dinner. Sometimes, George came home to no wife at all but a baby sitter and his handsome little boy.

Christine was expected to work late most evenings and she hated every bit of it, but knowing that her husband’s job was not the best one at the time, she was responsible now for the family just as much as he was. The dream they had of having more two or three kids was far fetched now.

Reality caught up with them.

The neighbors now heard noise. They heard doubts in yelling voices, they heard cries of not just an infant, they heard anger and stress levels rise, they even heard blood pressure rise.  It was never a private affair, these two, because they were after all a recognizable part of the neighborhood.

While they did their best to sort it out and keep their lives within their homes, the word naturally gets around. The word gets around whether you like it or not.  And while the people spoke, nothing was made better.

Michael cried when his dad barged out the door and swore he was never coming back.

It has been three years since the separation, since George got down on his knees in court and kissed his little boy goodbye. Not forever, he would meet him on the weekends but not throughout the week.  It’s been three years since Christine wept herself to sleep after George walked out on her and after having put Michael to sleep, lying to him, telling that precious little boy that everything would be okay.

The struggle was long, the nights were sleepless, Christine now had a child to raise, and a life to move on with. The first year was bad. Bad would be an understatement.  Her life seemed to have been falling apart. 

Soon after the separation, Michael fell ill with a flu so bad that she had to take leave from work to look after him. She couldn't work late now, now that she had no husband to count on.

Every night his words came back to her, “I will love you and honor you all the days of my life”.

Sometimes she laughed and then broke down into tears. Sometimes she cried endlessly. Many a times, she sat herself down on the bathroom floor and wept till that was all the energy she could give to weeping. She had to save some of her energy for when Michael got up from his nap.

She knew that she had made mistakes, she and George, both. She also knew that it was wrong of him to leave and she wondered where the man she loved had gone and when had he left and she wasn't thinking about the divorce. He had left long before that night.

Christine had to keep living and living well, she couldn't let her health deteriorate and she couldn't let this failure in their marriage ruin Michael’s life. They both knew well that separation shouldn't be something that Michael gets the worst of.

And so Michael was sent to school, to a good school and was given all that he needed to develop holistically. From 1^st grade art school to music lessons and basketball coaching. Michael was a good student until a fight broke out in one of his classes. That was just the first of many. Over a period of time, Michael’s ordeals with his classmates grew more frequent and sometimes out of control what could a six year old boy do to harm another six year old boy?

Apparently, a lot, when you have a basketball in hand.

It wasn't long before Christine received a call from Mrs Jones asking to meet both, her and Mr Bakers at the school.  Mrs Jones was aware of Michael’s parents’ separation, but she needed to speak to them about their son’s behavior in class. He was acing every subject but his behavior was to be looked into.

Christine did what she had to. She gave George a call and didn't waste time on the small talk. Three years of separation saw enough of awkward small talk and she knew it wasn't helping anyone anymore. 

Although she and George met every weekend to drop Michael off at each other’s places, they never really spoke. He didn't look like he wanted to. She looked like she needed to. But no words could help her unspoken emotions.

The school bells rang loud and clear while the kids shuffled out of their classrooms and into the lunch room.  Michael spotted his mom sitting on a bench outside his classroom and his dad sitting at the other end of the same bench. He ran to his mom and his dad and took turns at receiving a kiss from them both. He then went to the lunch room himself and caught up with some of his friends while his parents walked into the classroom.

This was the longest they were near each other since a very long time and what hurt her most at this point was how composed George was throughout. It didn't look like it affected him even a bit to have been separated, to have loved and then lost or to have known someone, lived with that someone, made love to that someone and then, here, sit by this someone and be as ignorant to all of it as a man without a memory, let alone a man without a heart.

As these thoughts ran through her head, she made her way into the classroom along with him, without carrying out any conversation.

If there was one thing she would have loved to believe it was that he had the pride of a man who never stooped to show his emotions. Isn't that want men boast about? Isn't that what they consider ‘manly’? She could see traits of this quality in her son too. The poor little boy knew not how to channelize his emotions growing up with just a mother around most of the time. A little boy needs his father in equal measure.

She may not have wanted to admit it, but there was a voice within her that hoped the teacher would side with her on that point…

But the teacher said none of it. It was the teacher’s responsibility to bring to their notice the behavior that Michael was displaying among his classmates. She used the terms ‘aggressive’, ‘impulsive’ and she even said ‘hyperactive’.  And these words were like spears through Christine’s heart. Her young boy being judged like this or rather, evaluated like this for no fault of his, the emotional turmoil of having parents that have separated is not fair to any child. And her anger grew and grew until she couldn't take it anymore. 

She rose and thanked the teacher for her concern even before the teacher could finish. She didn't feel the need to hear it all. She knew.

When they were out, she turned to him and said “I do not know if you are to blame for this or I am to blame for this. But that doesn't matter anymore, I’m done thinking this is about us, you and I are out of the picture now, Michael needs a better life, he needs a stable life.

I don’t know if you care enough, but there’s no going back to what you and I were. Fix this George, fix his life up, you may have got an out from our failing marriage but you don’t get an out here, especially when you bring a child into this world” , thoughts of every single moment they shared together flashed back in a flood of tears, something she wished would never happen to her in front of him.

He held her shoulders and she could feel a tremble in his arm, a shiver she recognized from before.

Back when an argument found its way to their dinner table when times were hard and she cried and he went down on his knees and held her hands, he had trembled then too. That night he admitted that he was as scared as she was about the troubled times they were going through and that was when she felt the human likeness in him. She knew then he had emotions that never really show.

This was something she had forgotten for a while now.  Now she remembered.

There were two sides to this story. Only hers was known to her.

He assured her that he would do what it takes to allow Michael to change his behavior and then he bid her goodbye and left.

He left once more. This time, she did not hurt as bad. George held a secret. A secret only he knew; the reason he had left in the first place.

If he could live with that shiver, then most definitely, he felt something. And if he hurt deep inside and could live with it, he knew what he was doing. And yet she felt that, however she might revile and mock his image, her anger was also a form of homage. She had left the classroom in disdain that was not wholly sincere, feeling that perhaps the secret lay behind those dark eyes upon which his long lashes flung a quick shadow. This anger against him was nameless and offended her baffled pride.

But that was it.  Pride.  Pride was the cause and result of it all.

My 2:00 AM Man

I knew someone, but only past 2:00 am.

From 4:00 am on ward, he became another man.

For two hours, he was him,

The one I slowly fell in love with. He, who stole my heart.

Time and distance kept us apart, 

But when the clock struck 2:00, he was mine, near or far.

You don't know him, this 2:00 am man.

No one knows him the way I do. No one will.

For now he sleeps before I do.

Dancer Girl

She moves like rush of breeze, the swish of her dress, mesmerizing.
Her hands sweep the air around her, lifting up a mood.
As she gently sways, no eye can look elsewhere.
The sound of the bells on her feet , transporting you.
Your hand is drawn into hers and she takes you to her world.
You're entranced, by the hypnotic movement of her hips.
And the music pulls you deeper into her embrace
Do you know what its like to dance without moving?
That what she's making you do.
Take your eyes off her and you will lose your way.
Close your ears and you've shut yourself out from the spell she has cast on you.
But keep your eyes open and look closely, she's welcoming you into her heart.
She's opened herself up to you. She need you to look inside her and be one with her.
Don't be afraid, her feet guard her from every danger that may come her way.
And she will protect you from all evil that may draw close.
Under her spell, you will be renewed. 

Busy Loving

Some where through my busy day, I'm sure I couldn't make the time to say
That I love you and I really do, but I'm a busy girl, and that's not new

If I don't get to take my phone or give you a call when you're feeling alone
Forgive me for it's not my choice, I'm a busy girl who, too, wants to hear your voice.

Between the  business mails and the trains' busy rails, I think of you and smile
And wait for the moment I'll get back home, in the evening for a good whole while.

The thought of you, during my working day, could distract the day lights out of me
But a day without the thought of you could take the breathing life out of me.

In a meeting now and I'm a distracted fool! Thinking of you, I might just drool!
Dismiss this now, I need to go home, my love awaits me, I wanna go home.

So homeward bound, I sing my way there, in this mood it's natural: the wind in your hair.
What a surprise! I'm shocked to find; You've left your work early cause I was on your mind.

Everything's gonna be okay

Everything's gonna be okay, Everything's gonna be just fine.
Take my word for it, there is always a way.
There is a way towards a solution.
There is a way towards the answers you're looking for.
and very often, you won't have to travel that way, it will come to you.
Everything is gonna be okay!

Trust me, I'm not lying, I promise you, everything is gonna be okay.
No, I'm not God. No, I'm not a superhero. No, I'm not a fixer-upper,
I'm a believer. I believe that you are destined to find a solution, to find an answer and to find happiness.
It's yours already, its there, waiting for you. Grab it.
Everything is meant to be fine. Know it!

You deserve it. Don't ever think that you don't.
You deserve to feel great. You deserve to know that everything will be alright.
No one is conspiring against you. The ground is privileged to be under you.
The sky lucky to be above you, the air enticed by your aura.
The universe loves you. I Love you.
Everything's going to be okay!

Of losing friends and dealing with it...

I know my friends, there are some that I know and no longer do.
They are still friends nonetheless, just the far away kind.
You may call them strangers, you may call them untrue
But I'd like to think they just found someone new.
Friends are people you invest in. You give all of yourself to them at a point in your life.
At another point they're gone because they have to go. And what's left of you?
An investment that left you with no returns?
Have you thought, maybe, that this investment was not yours to benefit from in the first place.
The part of your life that you give to another, wholeheartedly, is with them forever, presently stranger or friend.
That part of you that you gave so freely once upon a time and now isn't valued still has an impact on forever.
It is a part of someones history. It is a part of someones memory.
It is a part of someones story. It is a part of the millions of things people do in the name of friendship.
And is a major part of the future.
It doesn't go forgotten. It's engraved in a life.
Don't lose hope if you lose a friend to newer friends.
You've just given the world a part of you in someone else's body.
For if your friendship was true, you were never two,
Just One.

The Universe as i see it

These stars, they shine for me,
These planets revolve for me,
Constellations come together to be a part of my life.
The sky knows my destiny.
The universe seems to know what makes my world go round.
The earth is my cradle, maybe my safe ground.
This, the air that I breathe,
knows what takes my breath away.
And now keeps me free of it,
Of such addictive vices: love, awe, wonder, that once made me sway.
My new muse is more powerful than the sun.
It's the force that keeps this universe bound together as one.

Just a little Humanity...

Like prisoners in their own land
They fight for their lives.
Why must one fight in the first place?
Let alone killing mankind in the battle.
The battle is not of arms or weapons.
This is a battle of pride,
A show of power and the might in a hand,
The display of strength and ability.
At what cost though? And of what price?
Persecution of innocent lives?
Why not the culprits or the deserving kind?
But then again, that, who are we to decide?
Then do not, dear brother, take away a life.
Do not, a mother, take away from a child.
Pray, a little humanity you must have.
For what hope do we when we cannot learn to reconcile.
Peace, brothers, peace is the need of the hour.
In a country or maybe in a heart.
Put down your guns, and save the day.
Be human, is all for what we can pray.

Laughter Ever After

You don't deserve this, don't ever think that you do.
You deserve to smile and laugh and make others laugh too.
Don't you dare use that smile as a lying excuse
To hide away what you think means nothing to anyone but you.

Your life is no longer here, it's a part of a bigger one now.
I wished to be a part of you, a part of your life before it was done.
Let me, please; please, let me delve
Into a place that you shouldn't have shelved.

Leave your sadness, leave it all behind.
There's a world waiting for you. I hope you will find
That crying we come and crying we leave
But in dying, a part of you will find reprieve.
For the world remembers so well no famous aspirer,
But he who was Mrs. Doubtfire.

You don't break what's not yours...

This life is fragile, it's your own to take care of
But when someone else's mingles with yours, you are responsible for a lot more.
Entrusted in your care now is a heart that's found its rest
And you and only you, it chose you as the best.

Take care of this one, for not many are like it,
Take care of this one for the the heart is what the heart is.
What doesn't belong to you is now in your care
Because you welcomed her in, gave her a place to share.

Beware dear friend, don't break what does not belong to you,
You will be in debt, and people you know will become the ones you knew.
Even the strongest of hearts have their weakest of points
It would have been better had you paths never have joined.

You're uncertain whether you will last or you will part.
When you are unsure, don't welcome a heart,
There's no greater sin than throwing a heart to the floor,
Remember, you don't break what's not yours anymore.

In my Backyard, on a Tree.

Forget me! we must travel different roads

I may be away but I'm an invisible hand to hold.

It's alright if you forget me somewhere down the line,

I might forget you too, it's all a matter of time.

But somewhere through our busy lives,

We will make the time to rewind and revise

The moments that have gone by, the moments that made us who we are, 

Will refresh our beings when we're down and out and wishing upon a star.

And the memory of you and me, swinging in my backyard on a tree,

Will remind me of the time we spent with not a worry, all too carefree.

And today as I sit in a pensive mood, 

I know there was a time when we both understood.

That we won't ever meet again, though promises said and made.

The goodbye we said was a 'farewell forever' knowingly, unhappily, bade.

But where we are today is where we are happy,

And what more could I wish for you to be.

For when times are low and I need a moment of 'you and me'.

I'll go back to us, happily swinging in my backyard on a tree.

Twinsync- Faylyn

So there's this thing that my twin and I do,
Just thought I'd share it with you ;)

Click on the link below.
Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNiNjC80CHg

Okay

She hurt deep within, writhing in pain,
for a man she once knew was now entering her past.
Don't become a stranger she warned him, hoping he would never.
'Okay' he said, promising never in forever.

'Okay' was all they were, even when they were the present.
"Lets not worry about the future okay? We're fine now aren't we?"
"Yes, we're okay"

But 'Okay' was not to be settled for , this they learned much later.
The future gave 'okay' a more unsure meaning, okay was not enough, they wanted more.
"Where do we stand now?"
Sadly, all they got was... "Wherever we are, we're okay"

Maybe they should have been "great" or "amazing"
or maybe one of them should have just said it: "in love".
Cause that's what they were.
But 'okay' made it all seem okay.

And when okay saw its new avatar 'K',
That's when turning into strangers seemed absolutely okay.
But truth be told, okay was never enough. 'Okay' was inadequate.
And 'K' was an understatement to inadequacy.

Saving Grace

Sitting all alone.
Torture and turmoil layered my skin,
Bones were breaking within
Weak and weary, I had no strength to cry for help
A force swept around  me, calling out to me, "let go."
"I'm trying", I screamed, tears rolling down my cheeks, "I can't", I howled even louder.
"Let go, I'll catch you, you will not hurt", He said.
"No, I just can't, this cannot be the end," I continued,
"It isn't," He said, "this is just the beginning"

And for the first time since this conversation began,
I lifted my eyes to something more beautiful than anything anyone has ever seen.
Saving Grace.
He picked me up, wrapped me in a tight embrace, almost like a hug and twirled me around in the air.
He threw me up and held His hands open only to catch me before I fall.
"You're mine", He said. And a smile grew across my face like never before.
He held my hand and in an instant, a rush of breeze fixed up every broken part of me.
He touched my shoulders and wings appeared.
He said my name and I was happy.
Never again will I ever be alone.

Match Maker

Match Maker, where have you been?
I've been trying to hunt you down ever since you set this all up.
I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm sure you made a mistake.
Your choice was wrong, admit it for my sake.

Match Maker, I thanked you and I payed your price
you said he was the best, and that I would be his only vice.
But it looks like you had something else up your sleeve,
When you brought us together and then took my leave.

Match Maker, how could you? How could you be so mean?
Taking a heart as pure as mine and giving it to a devil of man kind.
Match maker, don't even try to fix this, now that you have returned.
I've fixed myself up in time, my heart, again, never to burn.

I'll find my own match this time, no help from you, thank you!
For no match can be made by another for me, especially by one like you.
I'll find him on my own you see,
and I'll tell him about you and what you did to me.

So, Match Maker, you may go back to where you came from now,
I cant't stand the sight of you, somehow.
Get along and let me some space.
There's someone behind you, are you hiding him? Move! Let me see his face.

Behind the Veil

Behind the veil are eyes that hide whatever the veil cannot.
Behind that shadow are hope and dreams that did not grow to materialize.
Behind that veil is a woman.
Behind the veil is a human treated like a slave.
The veil stands in between the world and her beauty,
Never to be eyed or envied,
Safely kept for her own dignity.
Behind the veil is a soul wanting to feel free.
As she peers through the eye hole of her veil,
She wishes she could wear something different instead.
Like so many other her age, decorated in colors like blue yellow and red.
Behind the veil you cannot see her swelling eyes, as her books burned and her music was destroyed,
while her hands are placed in those of a man she will serve for the rest of her life.

Small Girl, Big World

Let me go to a far away land, let me see what the world has to show.
Let me marvel and grasp at the wonders of creation.
I want to sit at the edge of a cliff
and close my eyes and feel the breeze cool my feet.
At the top of a mountain, I want to feel as small as a rain drop.
I want to swim and dive down to the bottom of the ocean
and marvel at the creatures that breathe no differently than us.
I want to cross borders and feel like there is no color, but just that of humanity.
No boundaries, just the spread of culture and language.
I want to go and learn of the ways that my brothers around the world live and laugh.
And maybe we could laugh together at the fact that language divides us but expression doesn't.
I want to taste more than just cuisines, I want to taste the flavors of the land
and maybe that which makes these places so delicious to travel to.
Let me sail towards the horizon, until there is no horizon any more,
but just another piece of land inviting me to its shore.
I want to get lost, at least once, somewhere in a city
and I want to find my way home, wherever it may be at the time.
I want to hold the world in my hand but nonetheless feel like a grain of sand. 

Broken Bodies and Breathing Souls

They flock all together, the broken of the lot,
In front of a figure that they trust to make life better.
And they cry and they scream and they cry and they scream again,
Not knowing that words are heard irrespective of actually being audible.
There is someone listening, a mother figure to be precise.
One who knows without being told, one who gives without expecting, one who answers before being asked.
And she gathers these broken bodies and weary hearts and she holds them close.
In her embrace, these bodies find themselves, they find their souls.
They breathe, at last.
In the everlasting care of this mother figure, man turns into a little child.
Ridding himself of all ego and getting down on his knees, he prays.
And somewhere in the midst of silence he finds more solace than he ever found in screams.
In that moment a hand holds his shoulder and his body isn't broken anymore.
It's breathing.

Attraversiamo- Let's Cross Over

Crossing over
From darkness to light,
From last year to a new one,
From one continent to another,
From one relationship to another.
We are crossing over all the time.
We are constantly in motion.
Around the sun, walking home, pumping blood through our bodies.
We don't stop.
Every step ahead is one step left behind,
Moving on.
We move when we know we deserve better.
When a step is all it takes to be more than what we are.
We cross over,
over obstacles and evil,
over oppressors and gossipers,
over heart aches and sleepless nights,
over broken bones and broken marriages,
over dictatorship and demons.
We cross over because we deserve better.
Sometimes we cross over because good is not enough when extravagant is in our reach.
Sometimes crossing over is not as easy as it sounds.
But when you start that journey,
you know you've already given yourself more than the world could ever give you.
And that's the best you can gift yourself.
Don't live in the dark, cross over to the light.
The darkness might be trying but don't give up the fight.

For as long as we have voices....

For as long as we have voices, let us not forget to say thank you

For the many blessings we receive,
For the hands we have and the ideas we conceive,
For the hearts and minds that get us through,
For the presence of me and maybe, me with you,
For the inspiration that moves us and the silence that keeps us still,
For the sound of birds, nature, peace and tranquil.

For as long as we have voices,
Let us get down on our knees and appreciate our feet,
Lets feel the ground and the lives that lie beneath.
Be thankful for being alive today more than you were yesterday,
Be thankful for waking up and mostly for being able to say,
"Thank you"


"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."
-From the book 'Eat Pray Love' by Elizabeth Gilbert

It's better by the sea

By the sea we held hands.
In the city we don't even meet.
The concrete chaos keeps us apart
Or is it our chaotic hearts?

Its easier by the sea, talking, laughing, kissing, smiling.
By the sea we make peace, in the city we war it out.

The waves are calm, the sun is warm. The feeling is mutual.

The traffic is immense, the air polluted. The feeling is aggressive.

I'd rather we meet by the sea than by the city.
For the sea gave me you while the city took you away.

Today as we both live in the city,
separated by streets and numerous dividers,
Two souls in another level of consciousness
still meet by the sea and laugh at us.

Humble Mumble

Humility is understanding that you are but a small drop in the ocean.
It is accepting the fact that there is a power mightier than you.
And that you are as tiny a being as anyone else in front of it.
Humility is grasping the wonders around you,
knowing that no power is greater than love.
Contentment and humility go hand in hand.
Humility doesn't complain. Humility is being satisfied.

Humility is protective gear. It saves you from the weapons of the world.
When you have all that you need to make you happy within you, you have nothing to lose.
And when you have nothing to lose, no one can steal from you. 
Humility is your protective gear against everything evil in this world.
How can anyone poke your ego when you have not one in the first place.

Live for the happiness of your inner being and not for the outer world.
If you find bliss in doing good, do it without the fear of being nick named.
When you do good, seek not the praises of the world.
But the joy of your heart. Expect not to be thanked.
But be thankful for everything.

One cannot boast of his humility without losing it.

John 3:30 - He (God) must increase, but I decrease."

Let the skies fall down

Let the clouds break open.
And let the skies send its gifts to us.
Open your arms and look up to the skies.
Close your eyes and breathe in.
And let the first drops of the skies brush against your face.
Smile.
Be grateful :)

Queen Of The Desert

The sand dunes don't look as lively as they did when you were here.
Even water doesn't seem to be so much of a necessity when you're away.
My heart thirsts to see you on your royal steed appearing on the horizon.
And I will rush to prepare myself for your coming.
They say the desert cannot be trusted.
Sometimes she takes our men and never sends them back.
Other times, she's the reason we realize how much we love them.
Queen of the desert, queen of the sands of time,
Send him back to me as soon as possible.
My heart longs to be at rest.
For under the sun, under your jurisdiction, who knows what may become of him.
But in the shelter of my arms, he will be safe and loved.
Like water found in the desert, such shall be my joy.
To see his face and feel his embrace.
But God forbid, you steal him from this life.
Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned.
Woman to woman, don't take away whats mine,
His love for you is temporary, he and I were united by the divine.
Though I fear the clutches of your hands and the lust you have for the desert men.
I am stronger to know, he will return, if not, he is still mine in heaven.


Imagery inspired by the novel 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho

Chivalry is Dead.

Chivalry was killed!

And who is to be accused as the murderer?

Fathers did not teach their sons how to charm or even respect women.

Mothers did not teach their girls not to believe every word a guy says.

Girls mistake a compliment for chivalry.

While guys think they are real charming if they can make a girl laugh.

Chivalry died the moment flirting turned physical.

Chivalry is class, chivalry is decent:

Two things that women of today have forgotten to look for in a man.

But why would they remember if they don't think it exists at all.

Mind you, chivalry is not over rated.

Expecting chivalry of a man isn't wrong; it’s expecting him to be a man.

You might think I'm crazy talking about chivalry in this age.

But as the word really refers to knights of the medieval age,

Chivalry is a man’s shining armour.

Maybe that's what the world really needs, knights in shinning armour.

The world needs Men.

I've Forgotten What The Rain Felt Like

Somewhere through the seasons, I've forgotten what the rain felt like.

And now I sit by the window
waiting for the clouds to burst.

The summer was important, I had to feel it.

I deserved to feel it, didn't I?

The sun is as much mine as it is yours.

I’m not really sure if I should have forgotten what the rain felt like though

Maybe when I chose not to remember it, my reasons were good enough.

But now, here I am wishing it will just pour down and be okay.

The rain was always welcomed by me. It will be this year too.

But it will be welcomed with more festivity within me.

For the heat wasn't felt only by the ground.

I've never anticipated the rain so much before.

Maybe the summers been here too long and I've tired myself out.

Maybe, I hated the summer

and just made myself believe that I needed it and that it was mine to have.

I guess I forgot that I loved the rain more deeply than any other.

The summer has dried everything up, from the fields and trees of laboring farmers

to the memories and desires of dehydrated hearts.

I wait in eagerness to dance like a peacock in the rain.

Cause I have forgotten what it felt like.

And when the first drops fall I will rejoice and be rejuvenated.

And I will be reminded of what I felt like when the rain fell.

Credit: Linda Baptista
(Check out her blog: LinLit)

The Mighty Storm and A Weak Heart

The thundering grew harsher while the land gave way.

Soil cracked open and for death made way.

The might of the clouds, destruction was hell-bent.

The weakest of hearts were but heaven sent.

Turmoil took over and darkness swallowed the land,

Weak heats searched for shelter in otherwise barren sand.

Struck not just by lightening but the indifference they showed

To the sun. And the warmth of the days they ignored.

The weaker they grew the stronger was the storm.

For these hearts saw no light or even hope of a day that’s warm.

But that’s what happens when you keep your heart in the dark too long.

It succumbs to its weakness and thinks it can never be strong.

Teach your heart to believe that there’s sunshine after the rain

And that with every storm that comes its way, there’s joy after the pain.

Back to Summer Paradise

Take me back to the day
When eyes met and hearts spoke.
Take me back to a year ago
And make time stand still.

Take me back to a certain sunset
And remind me of the moon
That shone that particular eve.
And then stop right there and that is the last I will believe.

Bring me back to this day here.
And let me be in the darkness about the days I lived in fear.
And only remember the twilight I recall from back then
When first words were spoken and left to comprehend.

Erase the days that let lust creep in.
Remove from my memory the words I wish I had said.
Don't take away, but a love that had set in.
Let her, behind shadows, love and live!

Take away only the bad
And leave to my memory the good and the glad.
As then I was, let me be,
On this day, a year ago, when two hearts met and they were all that I could see.

Time Traveler

Time Traveler, Time Traveler,

Hold my hand.

And Take me some place,

My past, please, a different land.

Time Traveler, you know well

Where I want to be right now.

So don't fool around and waste anytime

I want to say something to a someone somehow.

I have a message from the me of the future

To tell to the me of the years gone by

Time Traveler, you're bugging me alright!

Can't you go any faster, before it's night!

I need to tell her not to be afraid,

To love and to love some more.

Time Traveler, she believes in fate

How I wish she would just know...

That her future is as she wants it to be.

Not to worry, not to worry.

For, now, I know she sits in distress

Thinking, of life, shes made a mess.

Time Traveler, if you don't hurry up,

She will tie that noose and finish me up.

Time Traveler you're a devil, how I wish I knew.

That the future won't ever reach the past to warn a younger you.

Heart Menders Society

We are not a new cult.
Neither are we here to make a name.
Heart menders clean up after heart breakers.
Once a heart breaker has done the damage, a heart mender is the only person who can repair it.
Some people are born heart menders. Others join us.
Many a times, it's the broken hearted that turn heart menders.
Heart menders are experienced.
They know what the heart goes through and what the heart needs.
Heart breakers are not our enemies.
And this is no business.
The society of heart menders don't even have a governing body.
Their hearts are their governors.
Heart menders are people who probably had to mend their own hearts once
And experience for themselves what it feels like and how sometimes scars don't heal.
Heart menders understand this and they've grown from it.
Heart menders have just as much of a life as you do.
But they go out of their way to make sure your heart is okay.
For, god forbid, a heart breaker tears u apart,
A heart mender will come by to fix you up.
The process is slow and you may not feel her presence.
But your heart mender is working, slowly and silently.
The heart mender is your friend and she stays no matter what.
Unlike the one who left u, heart broken and all.
Don't be shocked not to know a heart mender at all.
Sometimes she works from inside,
Closer to the damage than anyone else.
Who else can reach there better than her?
It's her territory, it's her mending space.
Your heart mender is closer than you think she is. Let her heal you.

He couldn't hold a book

It wasn't an abnormality, the fact that he couldn't hold a book.
He just wasn't made that way, to be found in a bound nook.
But give him a screen and watch him go
Like a wizard his eyes moved as he clicked to and fro.

He watched a class full of bookworms as they were called
And he stood out, not ashamed of being walled.
He knew no poems or great authors by their names.
But ask him about developers of many an online game.

"Tech savvy" is what they called him
Sadly, sometimes it was "a nerd"
But he said they didn't know what it's like
To tweet freely like a little bird.

He said his world was more vast than any of their books put together,
He said they wouldn't know the joy of the world at the tip of a finger.
Why couldn't this boy hold a book in his hand?
No one knew and no one bothered to understand.

He found no joy, they way the others could
He saw nothing like it, the way they understood.
He said he belonged to the future and was probably born too early.
He said he needed to travel there and thus embarked on a journey.

Into his virtual world he climbed,
Goodbye bookworms, goodbye little minds.
Off he was to a far away land.
Where there existed no books to hold in a hand.

The Fury of a Patient Woman

Don't try her patience, no matter how patient she may be.
Invite her anger, invite her fury unknowingly.
She won't bite you head off, be grateful for that.
Beware, though, of her words, that may throw you down flat.

The fury of a patient woman is not seen through the naked eye.
It's better kept that way than to trigger it and ask yet to die.
Don't think you can take advantage of the patience that's one of a kind.
Don't be stupid enough to think your ignorance she won't mind.

A patient woman is not born, she is made.
Trust her then to be on a sunny day, your only shade.
Dare you are ungrateful of her kindness and love,
Fury will thrust you down by the rays of the sun above.

And last but not the least, don't think her patience will make her wait
For you, and for you to know who to love and hate.
Love her for who she is and appreciate her patience from within.
Save yourself from the mighty dread of the Fury of a Patient Woman.

She's Staying, He's Sure

Shes staying because she wants to.
I didn't have to ask her to stay.
Shes staying of her own accord.
She really wants to be here, for me.
She's different, she's not like the ones who waited,
who thought they were doing me a favor,
who stayed because I wanted them to.
She's staying because she has found reason to stay.
And she says its me.
She isn't like them.
They stayed long enough to have me attached.
They loved and they promised forever.
Forever didn't last more than a year.
But she, she chose to stay, forever.
and for her, forever means just that.
I've loved one too many,
only to watch them leave when they had to.
Hope was fading and I could never love the same anymore.
But she's staying and I think she deserves ten times my love for it.
I love her. Because she stayed and showed me that true love stays.

Stoned: A short film

Smashed, broken, confused.
Experimental, daring.
Used, abused.
Escape, run away.
Inhale, inject, ingest.
Fly, high, disappear.
Temporarily.

Return, think, give up!
Once more, console, lie, assure yourself.
Its alright.

This time...more.
The last wasn't enough.
Fly higher now. Soar
Escape to paradise.
Blind, hazy, vision's out.
Seeing what you want.
The way you want.

Ecstasy on the rise, supernatural.
Space...

The return.
Grateful for the escape.
Nothing satisfies.
Never enough.
Holidays come sooner now.
More often.
Escape to your world.
Return no more.
Stoned.
Gone.
Nearer to the end.

Our Reflection

Dragon Slayer

Dragon slayer, dragon slayer,
What praises can resound in your name.
But I pity the people who don't see you play your part,
Of conquering life's deathly game.

Dragon slayer, my inspiration, so strong and brave
Can man not see in you, your might and strength?
All creatures like me you look out for and save,
Preventing us from living in torment.

My queen, my victor, the throne of the red palace,
That ill fated dragon saw not his death.
He saw not his fate held between your lips.
He least anticipated you would be, as they said you would, a threat.

With words as sharp as a sword,
You cut through and slit his throat.
Never to speak again against you
Never with fire, your heart, to coat.

Dragon slayer, my symbol of victory.
Show unto thy children the power of your hand.
Dragon slayer, you who nothing can defeat,
Gather those who die at love's hand.

Show unto us the secret of slaying
The dragons that hold our hearts captive.
For the fire that leaves the lips of them all.
Surely seduce us to tumble and fall.

Dragon slayer, teach us to slay
The dragon that controls this life.
For in another world where dragons are men,
We must end a woman's strife.

Thank you for letting go.

Thank you for the memories,
Thank you for the laughter,
Thankyou for the times we spent
And for promising 'ever after'.

Thank you for the lessons,
Thank you for the inspiration,
Thank you for opening up,
And mostly for being patient.

Thank you for always being there
And then for going away.
Thank you for teaching me
That everythings not here to stay.

Thank you for the love
And for all that I saw in ur eyes.
Thank you for telling me the truth
And hiding away the lies.

Thank you, mostly,
for giving me all you could.
Thank you for doing your best,
For doing all that u should

Thankyou, boy,
for letting me go.
Im grateful for something
That I'm yet to understand and know.

Like Strangers

Like strangers they first spoke.
Introduced one day in person.
Goodbye stranger, hello acquaintance.
These acquaintances now spoke more often.
They conversed about religion, no religion, fears, dreams, ambitions, their pasts, their hopes and themselves to name a few topics.
They met over coffee, with other friends, sometimes just with each other.
They grew into friends. Close friends.
They confided in each other. They consoled each other and shared the deepest of thoughts.
They spoke about things they never thought they would.
They opened up in a way they never realized they could.
Now in love, they couldn't stop emotions.
Falling head over heels for one another.
Some truths told, some unsaid.
Some lies surfaced, some best kept.
More and more, attached and addicted.
To a feeling of belonging,  a feeling of loving.
But the heart fooled two strangers into love.
And 'love' they did but still as strangers.
Strangers then and strangers now.
Love had to leave them that way somehow.
For some, love is always and forever.
For others, love will always be a stranger.

Have you?

You haven't listened if you haven't heard from the mute.
You haven't spoken until you've spoken to the deaf and destitute.
You can't be rich until you've given all you've got.
You can't learn from life if you don't practice whats been taught.
You can't be beautiful if you don't see it in another.
You don't know sacrifice until you know what its like to be a mother.
You haven't seen if you haven't opened your eyes
You haven't jumped if you had no intention of touching the skies.
You haven't felt pain until you've lost someone dear
You haven't appreciated until you've said, "thank you for being here"
You haven't made a difference if you haven't reached out at all.
You haven't witnessed heart break until you've let your heart fall.
You haven't felt love if you haven't given a helping hand.
You haven't loved if you've no heart that understands.

The Hiding Place

The hiding place isn't a corner or a niche
It isn't behind something or out of your vision.
The hiding place is a unique place for every person on this earth.
Some of us find our spot in the nooks of books.
Others in the recesses of their beings.
Some at the back of their smiles.
And some find shelter in a confidant.

Our hiding places are temporary.
As the saying goes, you can run, but you cant hide.
We all come out of our hiding places sooner or later.
But only after receiving all the comfort we could gain from it.
Its our hiding places that allow us to rejuvenate,
To energize and fill you with everything that you're drained of.

In your hiding place, you find inspiration,
motivation to come out again and live.
Our hiding places are our rest points.
Those little motels along the path of a long journey.
Our hiding places are our friends.
Our hiding places can be in God.

Don't be ashamed to hide
We all do at some point.
Because it's not so much the act of hiding from life
than it is the process of seeking introspection or inner healing.
Away from the healing and help of the rest of the world.

More than anything, when we hide,
we turn ourselves inwards and seek shelter in the walls of our skin.
Heart and mind work together to fix the body and the soul.
And once done, you can't contain yourself in your skin anymore.
Out of hiding, free as a bird.
Hiding then, now flying.

Thankyou, my hiding place.

Little Girl

Little girl, so meek and humble,
Saying only what you must and nothing intentionally ill.
Smiling and laughing and making peoples day.
Making sure, a truth is kept at bay.

Little girl, I see you offering every penny
to a man on the side of the road.
Must you give all you have, when you have so little
to help you, in the winter, warmly clothe.

Little girl, I see you hide,
behind the shadows of a past.
Lessons you bring forward, and take with you further,
Promising, 'never again', till you breathe your last.

What is it, little girl,  that makes you who you are?
how different were you, before you became this humble star?
Perhaps you were nothing like you are now.
But then who were you? have you come from afar?

Little girl, you amaze me, for not really are you little for sure.
Grown up, a woman now, taking on the world.
Why then do I still address you as little girl, you may ask.
Because no one I know could ever be as humble as you go.

Little girl, don't ever grow up.
I mean an ego, don't ever let it show.
Little girl stay little and always ready to give.
Little girl, stay little, teach me how to live.

I shall not ask anymore of your past.
I don't care much for details.
Little girl, I know you now and I must be like you
Little girl, may God bless you!

The Special Kind

He picked her up and molded her heart differently.
He sprinkled magic into her soul and added a dash of sparkle in her eyes.
He kissed her and said, let no one treat you differently.
You are special, but not to be outcasted.
And then slowly he laid her in the arms of an angel,
who was to take her to the embrace of a man and woman.

The doctors panicked as she was born.
Who shall we save? wife or child?
Even if the latter lives, we cannot assure you she will live like other children do.
"By God's grace, please don't make me choose" said the man of the hour.
praying in a little chapel by the E.R., born was a father with the birth of a girl.
And saved was a wife by a mans deep faith.

They looked into her eyes and kissed her forehead.
She was different, she was special, she was one of a kind.
But more over she was theirs.
And mostly she was what they have been longing for.
A child.

She grew up slowly. And patiently did they bring her up.
Dealing with every obstacle that came their way.
Her hand was held longer than any child at her school.
But she didn't care. They didn't care.
Their hearts were overflowing for her.
And her arms were open to hold every drop of care they had to give her.

Passers by, turned their heads away in pity.
They felt bad for the child who's days were uncertain.
They felt bad for her parents, who gave their all to keep up with the child's medication expenses.
But at the end of the day,
no one could be more grateful for a child of the special kind than her parents themselves.

Times came when they tired. Times came when they yelled.
But before the sun set and the moon shone above, the three of them got down on their knees,
And prayed to the man on high, the source of all, He who was called love.
And new mornings dawned and they were grateful for determined hearts in the midst of strife.
Praying that happiness may forever be their motivation and their reward: a long life.

My Baby

A gift that was taken away,
Before I could hold in my arms,
The sweet fruit of tender love,
Gone forever from a life she never knew...

My baby, taken away,
Snatched by the eyes of the jealous,
Stabbed by the mouths that speak no good,
Killed by those who believed not in her capabilities.

My baby, my hope for a fuller life,
My one and only hope for completion.
Of a life already cheated.
They took her away, they took her away.

Murdered for no wrong doing of yours,
Denied life for the sake of someone else's crime,
How I long to hold u, my baby,
But now you are no more.
Rest In Peace...

XYZ

The Aftermath

After the destruction and after the war,
The rubble must be collected and pieces should be put back together.
The mess needs to be cleaned up and all must come back to normal.
Brick by brick the monument must come back.
It's beauty should be brought back to life.
Its demolition may have been unforeseen
But its beauty was bound to attract the unexpected enemy.
Stone and strife, brick and bone,
Blood, sweat and all.
Come together now and reform what was before.
Slowly yet firmly build ye more stronger
Than ever before was known.
Of shattered life, grow from the debris
Not once, ever again, to be broken by one such as the enemy.

What becomes of a story...

A true life story told time and time again
loses its charm and emotion with its repetition.
Be it by the original teller of the story or those who take it forward.
The life and love stories once told by you may have had so much of detail
and so much of expression that you could not contain it within anything less than 30 minutes.
But after telling it one too many times, wont u find the same story narrated in a matter of 10 mins?

So what is it? what makes 'The fox and the grapes' a story of 5 minutes?
When it might have been expressed with more details by the fox himself.
What makes Cinderella sound so fictional?
Unless of course you heard it from her tongue.
Then would everything be explained the way you hear it now?

With the passage of time, our stories begin to lose feeling.
They are drained of the experience and the lessons you learnt and the things you felt.
They transform from 'first person life experiences' to mere stories.
And all that's left is fact and no emotion.
Probably, somewhere down the line, listeners will call it fiction; made up.

Someday, you will stop telling your story, for the same reason that it holds no charm anymore.
That the characters in your story moved faster than you wanted them to.
Whats a protagonist without an antagonist right?
And your story will fade away like unrecorded literature, unpainted pieces of art.
And suddenly it wont matter to you anymore.
Suddenly, the fact that you're broken won't matter anymore
Suddenly, the feeling of attachment for the incident will fade.
and mostly narrating it won't engulf you in the same emotions you felt when you narrated it for the 1st time.

It lived for the time that it could hold its beauty.
Now it has reached a point where all emotion dies and fact reigns.
Your tragic life experience that once brought tears to the eye when narrated
Now a part of the past that's better left there.
A lifetime of emotion reduced to a tale of fiction.
What becomes of a story? Very little I'd say...

She doesn't know...

She doesn't know why she's here
She doesn't know if she should be.
She doesn't know what has brought her here.
She doesn't know why and how either.

She doesn't know how weak her heart is.
She doesn't know what is strength.
She doesn't know what it's like to feel.
She doesn't know what is love.
She doesn't know what is hate.
She doesn't know what its like to live.
She doesn't know what is death.

She doesn't know why the sun rises.
She doesn't know why the clouds move during the day.
She doesn't know that the moon is not a planet.
She doesn't know that dreams come true.
She doesn't know that hard work pays off.

She doesn't know how to speak
She doesn't know what can kill her
She doesn't know who gave her life
She doesn't know darkness from light
She doesn't know what its like to fight
She doesn't know how to read 
She doesn't know what are numbers
She doesn't know a lot that we do
She doesn't know who we are.

Ignorance is bliss, I'd say
I'd give everything to start learning all over again.
To start knowing from nothing.

Love's Fake Identity

Love came creeping, slowly, covered my eyes, held my hands
and danced with me, lifted me and threw me up into the air and I flew.
and here I am, blind, not knowing my landing, now that love has left.

When love spoke, I turned deaf to reality.
Love knew words that only dreamers could see and only believers could believe.
Love made me a believer but took my senses in the bargain.

Love walked in and filled the empty spaces, filled the gaps that had me incomplete.
Love walked out, taking bigger portions of me along, now the spaces are wider.
The wounds hurt more and the scars may never vanish.
And the spaces will think thrice before letting love in again.

Love spoke to me with charm, wit and words?
Love talked his way in and said everything I wanted to hear.
Little did I know that love has had practice and this isn't love's first time around.

Love gives you everything you wanted and makes everything seem perfect.
What was imperfect before love walked in?
Maybe love is perfect because that's what I wanted it to be.
and then it shows its colors of imperfection by turning around.

Love made me a fool but I'm still a fool for love.
Love has such power that it weakens me to the floor.
No one knows love until they've seen, one point in their lives, love walk out the door.

Senses Unheard Of

I see a baby, making faces at his mother.
He looks to be hungry or maybe in pain.
His lips take a shape and I can only feel pity for him.
His elder brother places his hands on his own ears.
While his mother says something to him.
Her face shows anger to the elder boy.
Yet, is soft and loving to the baby boy

As the traffic halts for the red signal I look into impatient cars.
The drivers pressing the center of their wheels in frustration.
Some sort of blaring noise must surely be created.
Why else would pedestrians and patient drivers be making faces at them?
And out comes a tempered driver,
His brow full of sweat and his eyes flushed red in anger.
He seems to be having a bad day...other than the scratch his car attained because of the car behind him.
And his hands swing in the air as his lips moved so fast.
He probably spoke words in a high volume.
How else would so many people gather to watch the scene he created?

And across the road I see a marching band.
I can see the drummers hitting their drums.
The tempo and speed of their hands kept timing to my heart beat.
Maybe it sounds the same too.
The flute players move their fingers so swiftly over the instrument
I wonder what it sounds like.
It definitely must be making for a celebration,
For the people behind the band cant seem to stop moving.
They move to the timing of the drummers.
And I cant help but imagine the sound to be really lively.
I see their feet lift off the ground and their hands slash the air.
Their heads move in time with each other
And their eyes close to sense just one part of the music...
The sound...

I can't hear what you hear.
I see what you hear.

Beauty, born of the Dark

There's pain in the words not spoken.
Those lips that have never been kissed, hurt.
Those hips feel abandoned by hands that let go.
Those hands feel betrayed by hands that taught to hold.

A heart will never love like it loved before it was broken.
A eye will not look beyond the skin of one too young.
For one too young, may be the eldest of the pack.
And yet, he could be the one too young to know himself.

Plucked a beauty from the ground, its home.
Basked in its fragrance but valued it too little.
For after the petals began to darken,
He saw no beauty and left it behind on the soil.

Never will this life choke in the weeds
Never will this flower die to liven the soil.
Never will her smile fail to bloom.
For always will the sun shine on her.

Forever will the moon be her friend.
Always, the darkness inspire her being.
For it's in the dark that her emotions awake.
And lay asleep behind the mask of dawn.