Dream

We all have dreams. Not one soul among us has successfully reached their goal without at least a few troubles and hindrances here and there (unless you are freaking rich, and even then, it's not always possible - it depends on your character).

The strong-willed, confident, patient ones are more likely to fulfill their dreams than the others. The impatient, wavering-minded ones either give up easily or decide to make a new approach to their hardships, and pick up again after some time, and they too achieve their goals. But whatever it is, if you put your mind to it, one day or the other, whether you're twenty or seventy, you'll reach your goal, and all that effort, all that blood and sweat you put into it will pay off. Here's my message in short: don't give up. Pursue your dream. Do not, on any account, stop. Just keep going.

So here's a poem I wrote, specially dedicated for all those pursuers of dreams out there, just like me. Don't worry (I don't - at least, not most of the time), you'll get there one day, just like I know I will too. It's normal to worry. Even if you are blind, deaf, dumb and physically handicapped, all at the same time, you'll get it if you put your mind to it. One day, you will.

DREAM

Darkness, peace, silence,

except for the rhythmic breeze.

Then the wind falters;

a sudden flicker of colour

like still butterflies

taking flight all together.

Now you have entered a world

entirely yours.

Your imagination is
the atmosphere of this world.

Your troubles and pleasures

control its future.

Your thoughts are

the essence of this world.

Your mental state

determines its virtue.

The ornament on the wall

is nothing but a result of superstition.

It possesses neither power nor control

over your world.

Let it hinder you not,

for life is neither fair nor easy.

But eventually, in the end,

it will all be worth it.

Remember: don't ever, EVER, give up. I know, I know, easier said than done. But as I pointedly said in my poem, life is neither fair nor easy. It's a cliche, I know, but sadly, it's true. And since life is also short, we might as well stop complaining and start doing.

Good luck!

Thirty Years Later

I once thought my soul was shaped
to fit into your soul’s crevices
like a puzzle piece.

I once thought my heart started beating
only when I found you
or maybe it just beat faster.

I once used to gaze into your electrifying eyes
and find myself lost
in a melting ocean blue world.

I once used to cherish your lopsided smile
and the way your eyes twinkled
when you looked at me.

And here I am, thirty years later, wanting to say,
I still think and feel the same.

The puzzle pieces might be old and tattered now on the outside,
but they still fit just like they did thirty years ago,
and our souls dance with vigour in each other's presence.

Our hearts might be slower and inching toward their last beat,
but our spirits are still just as alacritous as thirty years ago,
and we still live with the same enthusiasm, as long as we have each other.

Our eyes may have clouded over with age and grayness,
but I can still see your halo as well as thirty years ago
and I still find myself lost in your eyes sometimes.

Our skin may be wrinkled and baggy,
but your smile, undisturbed, is still heart-throbbing,
and our joy and love for each other
may not always show on the outside
but on the inside they are deeper, more profound and unconditional.

Thirty years later,
here we are, still together,
sitting out on the porch as days lazily drag on,
galloping toward our last breath
together.

Usually I start off the blog post with a little intro and inspiration for the poem I'm showing you this time, but I wanted you to find out on your own that this particular love poem I wrote recently is about the older and wiser generation, and not about a break-up. The title may have given away the little secret, but still. I think the starting sounds slightly misleading at first.

Most of the love poems I've read have been about the younger generation. I know there are many poems about the older generation, and if you know any, please give me the links by commenting below. But the fact that I haven't read any, drove me to write this poem, rather than find some to read. If you know any, please, please, comment below. Otherwise . . . well, still leave a comment! :)

The Door

I open, and I close.

You decide when I open and when I close.
I can lead you to your dreams
or just to the next room.
Without me, there is no security of life,
without me, there is no past, present or future.
I decide whether to keep you open to the world
or closed away from everything and everyone
but you are the cause for my decisions
you can enjoy solitary bliss with me
I won’t let anyone in if you tell me not to
you can trust me with that
but trust is not something easily gained or given.
You can decide where I lead you
it’s all in your hands
I will obey you
but on one condition;
if you gift me with strength
then I stand strong for you
if I am not sturdy
then I have no choice but to I crumble
and you would be left with nothing
to defend yourself with.
I open and I close.

When a loved one hurts you, is it possible to love them even more?

No, this is not a mushy, lovey-dovey story about how I had a boyfriend and he dumped me and I got hurt. No, that’s not what happened.

There is really no exact way to explain this. You know those dark emotional corners of your life where you can make out vague shapes but you don’t really know what’s exactly there? Or if you haven’t had that experience, you might have at least had the experience where a person is lying to you, and you see a flicker of emotion in their eyes for a millisecond which could give them away, but you can’t identify it?

Well, that’s the best way I can frame my thoughts to explain my unfathomable feelings to you. Perhaps you’ll see this as an unimportant thing which may or may not have happened to you once, for a second.

But I think that if you really consider the tiny little unexplainable things that happen in your life which so many people, maybe even some psychologists and philosophers shrug off, you’ll be able to bring light to some of the dark corners and identify the shapes.

So here’s what happened to me: my best friend, whom I love with all my heart, lied to me. Yeah, she did it for a good reason. And the lie was so huge that although I knew she did it for a good reason, I knew she had a choice; it wasn’t that she should’ve lied. She did have the choice of telling the truth. And I was naturally very hurt. So hurt that I cried. And yet, I was not mad at her. At all. Not in the least.

The really weird thing was that, in that moment, I really needed her, and I loved her so much more. I couldn’t understand why, though it felt like I did, and . . . it felt like a natural thing to do, like breathing – it was like, of course I love her more. How could I not? I was not mad at her in the least, even though I was majorly hurt. I called her that night and explained my feelings to her, and we talked for a long time. I was still hurt, but I couldn’t not talk to her. I was almost scared to keep the phone.

It brought us much closer, closer than we’d already been. Although neither of us could understand my feelings, we connected so much that night.

I still don’t understand my feelings, but as I said before, always, always, keep in mind the little things that you can’t understand about your life, no matter how small they seem, even if they have nothing in connection to my story. And if it’s about another person, don’t keep it to yourself. If I’d kept my feelings to myself, they would have either eventually built up or faded away, and who knows, I might have lost something important, maybe even my friend.

No matter how unimportant that little part of your life might seem, never forget it, never let it go away without understanding it. I know most people like to forget the parts of their lives which they might consider sad or weird, or whatever. They might not understand those little pieces of their lives sometimes. But even if you feel like a weirdo or freak, you have the right to understand every single part of your life. Think about those unexplainable feelings or things that you did, or thought. Try to understand them. It might take a long time, even years. But one day, I assure you, you’ll get it. One day, it’ll just click.

And when you do understand, you might have a negative or a positive reaction to it. But whatever it may be, at least you understood it. At least you didn't die still now knowing. You won't regret it.

The Prehistoric Woman

I recently read this book "Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps" by Barbara and Allan Pease. It's a really awesome book that proves that women and men are different - not unequal, just different. Most things that people might perceive as "sexist" is not really sexist, it's just how men and women think. The different ways in which men and women think is mainly because of the way our ancestors behaved - the man hunted, and the woman defended the children from wild animals and tended to them. The book is not actually about the prehistoric man or woman, just how they influence our behavior and thoughts today. But this book still sort of inspired me in a weird way to write this poem, and I just wanted to share it with you.

THE PREHISTORIC WOMAN


As she glances around using her peripheral vision,
her mission to protect her nest, always in suspicion,
she guards the home, tends to her offspring,
awaiting her loved one, to her children lullabies she would sing.

While the man ventures out to hunt meat,
she looks after her children and keeps the home neat,
at those times facilities and luxuries were naught,
when the time of the month arrived, the pain she fought,

as blood trickled down her rough but beautiful legs,

the pain was so unbearable, to God, for mercy she begs.

But she had to stay strong and protect her children with her life,
until her loved one came back home to his wife.
She did not know if he would come back or not,
but she could not distract herself for she had to do a lot.

When unfriendly animals threaten to get past her guard,
she would defend her nest as much as she could for it was hard,
since strange animals back then were quite a strife,
especially with little ones to protect, which she would with her life.

While she is gifted with the privilege to give life,
he is gifted with the talent to care for his children and wife.
Her loved one and herself, they had equal roles in every way,
though the society portrays them otherwise to this day.