Courage never comes in bulletins or bill boards. Rather I consider this as a silent act which we perform everyday. Courage is never in big stones, it's rather in small pebbles. It just needs some nudging for you to go brimming with courage and shining, valiant eyes. It is omnipresent.Be it - in child who protected his mother from violent father, a tourette syndrome boy speaking confidently about how tough the journey was and how acceptance helped him.
In the woman who raised voice for another woman, taking a step further to remove toxicity.
And you know what, it's also in writers like us who take up the noble job to share our stories with the world. Isn't it amazing !?

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Sometimes~

Often, I find myself looking out of the window, bathing in sunlight and gazing at the vast sky above me. How tiny impact we create in this universe! The flowers, every morning, caress me back, perhaps well aware of the pearls I shed through my eyes last night. The grass beneath my bruised feet turns smooth. How peaceful it would be to lie on it! "Death must be so beautiful," I wondered. Sometimes - this heart just wants love and to be loved, a swirling peace within, a whiff of fresh air when it's suffocating, a smile radiating across face, a forehead kiss, a handkerchief to tears, a shoulder to cry. Human needs are small, yet unfulfilled. But the reality that I hate -

It all happens sometimes and never f o r e v e r .

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I forgot how to write. My words don't find a way out of my system. It seems as if they are stuck - stuck in the mayhem, stuck in the pockets of people who are loud to shiver my soul. I don't find a way out. It seems life changed in a second. Does growing up sounds like this ? Should I shout for help ? But for whom, I should ? For those pieces praying me to come back ? For that daily journal writing challenge? For what I should return back ? The blank space suffocates me. I can't dwell in it nor come out of it. The invisible thread just ties me up for another molestation.
I ponder - why does life seem beautiful only to rip apart at the end ?

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Halcyon Times

If I had known your love so pure, I wouldn't have been a fool to let it go. Perhaps, this is what life teaches us - to hold the moments close without fear, to let your heart free and enjoy the present. Human beings tend to brood over things and waste sand-like time sulking about them. Once it's gone, the only thing we have is - regret. It is our natural habit to see the end of the rope or edge of the cliff. We love taking risks, of course. Testing limits, unintentionally sometimes, is our affinity. The thing which we never realize is that perhaps today you reach the end like you predicted you won't. You might fall off the cliff, the rope might break loose and that's when we fall.

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It was the summer of June. The scorching sun melted over the blue lagoon sky. I stood under a tree, watching life pass by. The hawkers shouting at top of their voices for earning a single penny, the women carrying bags of their kids while the carefree kid is slurping the ice cream, sumptuously, the richest of the rich having conversations about the bags from Louis Vuitton or newly launched merchandise from Zara while the poorest of the poor debating to have rice or no food for dinner. Life seemed unfair at this point. The heat of the sun started melting inside me. It felt suffocating. I felt someone has put life in fast forward while I am stuck at the pause button. My eyes resemble that of an insomniac who woke up in the late afternoon. My heart feels hungry. Everything felt slow, drowsy, and stuck amidst whirls of waves from which I'll never come out.

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Maybe, I am alive. My heart still skips a beat upon seeing your caramel brown eyes. It still aches remembering the arrows you plunged deep into my heart. It knows the direction to home or which way you like your avocado to be served. Or how much you hate bananas on your frozen yogurt. It knows you hate black. As it was your mother's favorite color who died in a tragic accident, you presume was pre-planned by your father. The places in your hair where you like my fingers to graze. Or where you love to be kissed. The things which make you happy. Things that make you sad. It still knows what you like. It still beats for you.

Maybe, I am alive.

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