Is it happiness that I seek for,
or peace,
this silence within my soul,
which doesn't need a smile for affirmation.
Happiness could change,
because it is part of this turbulence,
where all the waves have a crest,
and then there is a trough,
but this silence is plain,
doesn't need a sign,
nor any language.
No love, no indifference, no hate, no attachments,
it is just me and this silence,
which is enough
even if it appears empty.

-

Sometimes it is necessary to let go of
all those empty feelings and obsolete emotions,
which might feel heavy.
Like an autumn tree shedding its leaves,
in yellow and orange hues -
those were all lush green once,
but over time faded
and had become a burden.
Those leaves drift away on the river below,
maybe float forever till they fade to nothing.
The tree might feel blue in the bitter winter,
missing those leaves,
for each one was indeed special.
But the winter is evanescent,
and spring will bloom soon,
painting the tree green once again.
And so you must drop
anything that makes you feel heavy,
however enchanting once they were,
and wait for the stories which will
nudge you to wish to live again
differently and magnificently.
Each such time might be a metamorphosis for you,
yet adagio you become
the version of yourself
that you always want to be.

-

I am out for a search,
consciously and clearly.
But there are questions I ask myself,
unanswered I cannot move forward.
Should I find myself or,
should I find my mirage?
Should I find comfort in being myself or,
should I find a comfort zone?
Should I become myself or
should I destroy the idea of myself?
Should I find myself in another place,
which isn’t my home,
but might become another womb,
or perhaps another tomb.

-

I was searching for pieces of myself,
lost and scattered in phases,
in places unknown.
It was raining today,
the water kept flowing,
not worrying about its flaws,
not thinking about the havoc it creates.
The rain kept pouring with no hints to stop,
me on my cosy little chair,
lamenting about the lost pieces of myself,
hoping I find them again someday,
for without them,
I fear I would never be whole.
But then I also wonder if anyone exists,
who is always whole?
Aren't we all broken pieces of artwork,
beautiful even when not mended?

-

This night is colder than yesternight,
darker than yesternight,
but the melancholy within makes it poetic,
musical and subtle.
It is abstract,
with the brightly dotted canvas above and
shady woods below,
for the little warbler in search of a warm branch.
The deeper the woods become,
the more mysterious the night became.
She flies past all the voices,
less bothered of the spirits, perhaps hidden,
perhaps might not exist.
She will find a branch - she knew that for sure,
maybe broken but warm enough for her.
The rains couldn't wash away the hope,
that crowned her evermore.

-

She lost herself in the depths of her silence
She didn't want to say anything to anyone,
because everything was blank for her.
She felt like that clear sky after heavy rain.
She wasn't sure if she was failing
because she lost her reason behind the battle.
She didn't know if the fight
was worthy of anything dear for her.
She felt like she was crumbling,
but there was some hope after all.
A feeble voice somewhere
that told her to keep moving.

-

Dreams can sometimes wait,
because they deserve a complete you than a broken you.

-

The air felt denser and
sinking,
but she kept flying.
She had to find her abode,
despite the thunders
and rains that were to come.

-

Each day passes by,
I miss some part of myself.
I am a decaying flower,
my petals wither away slowly,
I stand there, still enjoying the breeze.
I see the colours on fresh blossoms,
the fragrance they happily fill around.
I still stand with a poignant smile,
with ocean-deep thoughts in mind,
while I am still withering away.

-

You might be flowing
even when you appear to be still or stuck.

-