You needn't be beautiful, dear love
Not in orthodox ways
You needn't sparkle to an audience
To make your legacy stay.

Don't loathe your weird
Just because you're standing outside
Know that the world is warped
And sides of a fabric turn all the time.

Don't change, not for the world
Nor for love
But refine, redefine,
Add confidence to your air;
You're a masterpiece in process
A force of nature, I promise.
So shine in your own right
Be blinding bright,

Not for the world, nor for love
Be just so, for yourself.

-

I once had a thorn
Prick my finger
The wound swelled and tore skin
And quite a bad shape it'd been.

Somedays, inflamed it would get
All angry and puckered red,
Then rules of the body would have it beat
And it'd dry and retreat.

But try as one may
To make it go away,
It would infact not disappear
For another one and a half year.

Just when I had learned to live with it
It made a questionable gesture.
And just like that it grew tinier by the day
Until it completely went away.

Right then, I could promise wounds do heal
If I wait and stand very still
And do I breathe clean air
And see rays of light filter in
Through the thick of ashes
I'm seeing an end to the smoke screen
I mightn't have to hold my breath for yet another year
Something tells me the end is quite near.

-

Pleasures and pain-
Shifty experiences
Weave a fabric
Infinitely intricate.
To reason with,
It seems vain;
Dark clouds and primroses-
Sometimes they'd smile
And sometimes there are
Heavy rains.
When they come from you
They're shards in my palm
Prickly like a thorny branch
Bothersome as a sore thumb.
And when they come from me
They're slippery at best
Grains escaping from between my fingers,
And my feet sinking at the quicksand.
Tricky thing, these
Mirrorless abyss.

-

On days like this,
she'd mourn for her younger self -
she'd envision her palpable youth
like a child
stranded by the side of a road
with her only doll
to fend for herself,
left to the elements of nature
to navigate the emotional landscape
and fifty others beyond that
all on her own
with her shabby braid
and incapable hands;
she grappled with those elements
hurtled hands in the dark
however best she could,
and it made her
tough, wise;
who knows what would've been better -
getting tougher with time and tragedy,
or never losing her innocence at all?

-

The street boy shit-talks
But doesn't pull the trigger of a gun
On someone.

The boy whose body tried to kill him
Holds the cigerette between his lips without lighting it,
Without giving it any power.

The girl who hasn't a sweet word to say
Visits the old age home every Sunday.

And the girl who was fascinated with red lobsters
Grew up with monsters in her head.

Sometimes that's the way with things
Antithetical, it seems.

But you are what you do,
Not the boxes given to you
Part of a learning curve, uphill or downhill
Be kind, be proud, you do you.

-

In my new found clarity, I'm reeling-
I am connecting the dots; I'm healing
Slowly, sure, very slowly
Slowly, but surely.

-

In an ideal world
I shall be able to speak out loud
Whatever's on my mind
Unrestrained, unfiltered.

An ideal world, to me,
Would be transparent.

-

No river pledges to
Never cause havoc
If there isn't a human
Bruising their hand
To hold in place the dam
The first time around.

It isn't completely alright,
It never is; change is a law
Etched in nature.
The cake doesn't wait
Plated with the perfect icing
Without atleast once burning.

You are not to live in a changed world
Without first bringing the change;
You have in you the power, the fuel-
You are the change.

-

I am the same
I used to dread change
I thought the rash hand of fate,
Would gash through my slate
But I am the same
A little weathered in my mind's shape
My edges do not bear teeth
Before the mind's eye is a clear field
Dunes aren't anymore unnerving
I'm changing, I'm changing
And yet, I'm the same
Wiser, maybe, and acclimating.

-

Becoming and unbecoming
like threads spun
and threads picked,
we fall apart, and
we start gathering ourselves
as I speak.

There has not been a day
without the dichotomy
of sunshine
and dark clouds;
a poem of longing remains
half formed on the lips
even as it wears a smile
as a thick, ungiving shroud.

-