Good job little one,
you’ve reached this far.
If not for hope;
would you have come through?
Hope, kid, is like the sun
It doesn’t turn it’s back on you.
Even on your darkest hours
it’ll linger as a dim light.
Hope is what you are made of.
You nurture hope, even when you’re unaware
of its existence.
Hope is the song you hear when you’re crying
The guard when you’re at the lowest
The friend in solace
The spark over the night sky.

It was hope that brought me this far.
As I’m penning down the last few sentences
of a challenge I was still unsure
of a fear to stay up all night
of a dedication to complete
of a new world I’ve witnessed
Gratitude, it is, that overwhelms my heart.

It’ll be okay.

The healing
feels more like bleeding.
And now I’m kneeling before
An ill mind.
But go easy on yourself kid
the world will not burn
if you were to reach out and touch it;
the ice would not melt,
the sun would still rise.
the stars would still brim with joy
and the moon
would still listen to you.
Be patient with yourself
Look at yourself with love
it’ll all be okay.
all okay.


I’ve collected enough scars
to feed the guilt that’s feeding on me.
I’ve spent enough tears
on pitying for myself.
Enough smiles I’ve wasted
thinking it was fine.
Enough fears I’ve felt
of growing too fast.


And when I’m near you the music starts,
Apathy fades away as the notes swell.
Alluring symphonies play in my heart.
All my face painted with blush.

Beautiful memories they were.
Bloomed over a short time.
Beckoned the way to spring.

Could it be time that was jealous of us.
Constellations I guess.
Conflicts of the heaven.
Caused us to split.

What is enough?

Aren’t my eyes pretty enough to be seen?
My nose tiny enough
like in the movies.
Or my lips, shapeless
isn’t worthy of sweet words?
Why, isn’t my body
worthy of love?
Perhaps it’s my hand,
that’s too cold to hold.
“you’re enough” they say;
But what does enough mean?
Am I never enough to be loved?

Failed kingship.

There was once a mighty king
His eyes were brimming.
He was the talk of the town
Pride ornamented his walk.
Greed crowned him.
Women were afraid of his lust.
He envied every happy person
and took it out on gluttony.
He earned only wrath from his people
And became slothy over time.

He was never remembered.
Though he was a man of strength.
He never went down in history.
People wouldn’t know any of his stories.
His sins adorned him in life.
So did it, in his death.

to you.

We met, loved, cared for, fought, hurt laughed cried but
Irreplaceable memories we etched
The happiness you lent me
That I hold debt
That can’t be returned completely

So let me cover you if it’s sunny,
Be your shade if it’s raining
And If you ever turn back time, lemme hold your hand like you held mine tightly.
To the cries make me a shoulder
With each smile, I am now witnessing you grow older
I may be weak but I promise I would shoulder you through every darkest day of your existence.
I’ll help you to heal yourself, Even if I can’t do it entirely.

Kaleidoscope memories.

There’s a thin line
between who I am and what I am.
Am I the one you think of
when the rain washes down your window?
Am I the reason you stay up at night?
Am I what the poets call hurricane?
Am I the monster they scare children with?
Or the lullabies they fall asleep to?
What am I?
Am I the scars on my body?
Am I my tears?
Am I the person lingering
in my kaleidoscope memories?
In the glint
of the broken broken fragments of my mind.
Is it who I am or what I am?


How sad is the word “almost”?
They almost left.
She almost knew.
He almost confessed.
They almost killed.
I almost told you.
We almost lived.
I almost was enough.


It was the world that crumbled over her head
She had no tears left,
that the skies had to cry for her heavy heart.
But she could take no sense of it.
It was as though
She parted ways with everything
Almost like worlds apart.
She hated the feeling “to feel”
And began resenting
all things termed mortal;
Animals, fruits, flowers, people.
Instead she resort
to life between pages
of books whose owners
long dead.
And was contented that
at least life was living
in the sheets of books.

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