Growth

People constantly use this word, but i always find it hard to know when to use it. We hear 'this year i want to grow spiritually' or my 'business to grow' or 'my art to grow'. It always seems to concentrate itself as we approach every new year when people make resolutions to better themselves and their lives. But do we ever question ourselves what 'growth' is to us personally? beyond its meaning that we have been taught it is? Do we ever sit down, with all the cluster in our mind of past hurts, disappointments and regrets, pain, and also the best moments, examine what all this has taught us, or led us, before we wish for this growth? Isn't this process of evaluation in its capsules, embedding this sense of growth? Its like we want to grow yet we don't want to see where we are growing from. This also makes it possible for you to see if the events in your life have become a pattern, just so you break it or you do not repeat the same mistakes. This desire for growth, must mean that the more you wish for elevation, more experience, more money, with all this comes even more challenging obstacles and do we ever say 'Am i ready' to give my life this seed of growth, and watch it, nurture it, accept it however it manifests itself with no sense of expectation that it should be in some imagined form we would like it to be. Does growth mean 'what we want' or simply the lessons we get from whatever happens in our life, be it materialistic or not and use it to the best of our ability.  I guess its a personalized definition. But what the elapsed year taught me is to be grateful for every single situation, because in every single one of them, I can possibly grow. Remember the present moment is all we have to make a path of fulfilled dreams and aspirations.

The Sheep lioness

Her skin, covered by laces of wooled up lies

seems perfect at day, but turns frail at night

her eyes, confused by her nature are reddish black

red for her spirit, black for her heart

she hides behind her spells, her words

that enchant false reflections to those that might see her true nature

her heart black as the widow's shadow, is red to her lovers, her friends

so that her spirit becomes like her heart,

red to symbolise her boldness

to confuse them to see what seems to be her

she whispers poisonous hatred masked to be love

i know she hates me,she hates me for not falling for her trap

a pit full of her victims convinced to be her priceless gifts

if i laugh, she laughs louder

if i dream, she dreams more bolder

her intentions? to make me sink in her delusioned eyes

i cant, i wont. i cannot live in false perceptions of her world

she likes the sun, it turns her into a humble sheep

but the moon's glowing light makes her become a hungry lioness

willing to eat its young for its satisfaction

what is she? only she knows.

i named her the sheep lioness because of her conflicting masks

i watch her words as they take endless shapes to trap her victims

her true self is known by the night

thats why her lovers, her most regarded friends live in the sun

while i walk on the moon

my first love poem

This is a poem i wrote two years back, when i just couldn't understand what happens to be 'love', what it feels like without the motion of what it should feel like, for myself and for everyone around me. Because in the eyes(and mostly hearts) of many, it just translated pain, misery, tears, broken-bitter hearts, basically it was all misery. And i just wrote on it. What i thought 'love' was at that time :)

I don't understand your reasoning

The way you cocoon your thoughts 

When i try to reach them

The way you inflict so much pain in your already shattered heart

All i want is to share your pain

Help you breathe when your lungs are heavy with dry air

I want to wash the blood stained on your back

Collect your tears with my bare hands

All i want is to be there for you

But you still push me aside

Where i dream of what you are

Never seeing your face

You push me aside 

Where you are never a reality

the infamous word

There's always that piece of writing where you pour your heart out on paper and it seems as if every word needs to make sense. You read it, gasp, a slight sigh, then you read it over and over again, hoping the words feel right and actually MAKE SENSE! hahaha.. i've been such a critic of my writings that it became a reflex. But this constrained my writing space, locked my words and moulded them to structured and fixed words, without a touch of emotion. It blocked all other 'non-sensible' words which would've made the paper smile a bit, without it being just a paper with words that had no freedom within them. Thats when it just clicked, "nothing has to make sense". Its all but a process of using words to paint pictures, or to colour paper and maybe translate emotions closely linked to words. My words grew wings, i nurtured those little fragile, insecure wings with liberated words, writing every word without its structure that i thought it should have. A beautiful beginning of what now i hold dear to my heart. I freed my words and in the process myself. The cage broke. Now it is just them and the air without direction. They shall lead themselves into marvelous writings, poems, songs, whispers.... everything :)