Distinctly Yours

We are not meant to be,
A part of each other's hearts.
Entwined to beat in the same rhythm.
I rush like the ocean waves,
While you stay calm like the shore.
Often driving me to reckless attempts,
Gathering substance from the silence you hold.

We that you and I form, 

Is not to complete one another.
For you,  my love, are your own self. 

Enchanting me with every gaze I lay.

When I try to be better everyday.
You and me do not complete the other.
Completeness as I see bears end of road.
Barring the avenues of growth.

I, my companion, will witness your journey

While you observe mine. 

Our presence to comfort us both.
And bond to nourish our will towards respective goals. 

Together that we achieve, 

Be our progress through individual successes.

The love, trust,  friendship and faith,
We develop and share,

Bless us with wisdom to accept tough times.
Bestow us with strength to overcome,
Anything that makes us try.

The world might say otherwise,
Command to surrender or better divide.
They could see us apart,
Lest they know that we are together,
In the different roads we take.
Our journey distinct but destination,
Be same.

The Threads of Life

A swathe, that life is, has strands of emotions ignited and kindled by experiences faced throughout. Joy sorrow, angst, longing, disgust fear and surprise become threads that ornament our life.  They contain the moments lived gleefully, endured silently or embraced willfully. Situations vary and vanish, we age to grow wise and old but the threads bind us from birth till death. We learn the art of reacting as we live by.  What sets the matured and novice apart is control on these threads of life. The novice allows emotions to control them while matured are in charge of their threads of life.

The Flow

  

     When talking about flow, one always presumes a path that leads to a destination unfamiliar.  Straight, tumultuous, calm or wavy, forms alluded to the flow but not all at the same time. There are many who plan the eventualities of their life, every step they take is well thought upon, every other day spent and awaited are planned to perfection. Yet, the uncertainty of the future makes them describe their journey of life a flow, a straight and calm flow. Others take each day as a challenge, looking forward to the adventure it brings along; living life as it comes by, describing their ‘flow’ as surprising and wavering. 

Am no poor thing

There will be people, incidents, accidents and encounters in your life, constantly trying to bog you down. Their words pierce your good sense and tear down confidence.

They will dictate:

You poor thing, you ought to break down.
You poor thing, you mean nothing.
You poor thing, I make your decisions.
You poor thing, I command your life.
You poor thing, even if you die, you must not rest in peace.
You poor thing, you must bow down to me.
You poor thing should not see eye to eye to me or yourself.
You poor thing, agree to whatever I say.
You poor thing, do not question me.
You poor thing, hate yourself for not being pally with me.
You poor thing, I will ruin your life.
You poor thing should see yourself he way I see.
You poor thing, you are my slave.
You poor thing, you better lick my soles.
You poor thing, be to me.
You poor thing, do not make sense to me.

They would love to see you down,
Would love to make you shudder at the thought of life being unaffected by them.

Do not be affected
for all they want is to bind you,
make you immovable, shun your growth.

Let them know you can roar.
Roar out loud and silence their shout.
Fill your heart with strength not fear.

Haunting

It's a long ravaged road,
On which I walk.
The mud dug apart,
And homes taken away,
From brick and mortar.
On a deserted road.
I walk.

Don't know why?
But I keep walking.
On a road dwelled before.
They talk of a song,
Which played aloud.
To soothe the souls,
On the deserted road,
Where I walk.

The souls have moved.
The song has broken.
It makes no sense,
As the song still plays.
Though the record is broken.

Oh it pains to see,
The road this way.
I can't stop to wail.

"Wail if you want to
But don't stop walking. "
Says something to me.
Don't know what or who that is,
But has spoken to me.

There's the yellow window.
Once adorned,
with pink flowers.
The flowers burnt.
The sunshine now brown.
I wail with you, oh window,
But I got to keep moving
I can't stop walking.

My soul's tired.
Looking around.
There's no hand holding,
No eye smiling.

You could have taken me,
To where you went.
I needn't be walking,
On this road again.
Which glares my soul,
As I walk alone.

I have come afar,
To lose my way to those roads.
But the roads keep walking,
Like a ghost,
Haunting me down,
No matter where.