Inspired by the Quote ‘Life sucks and Then it’s Great’

 Maybe life was all about striving and getting tired, a little bit of sprinkles of hope, motivation and wisdom and then faith. Maybe it was all about destroying one’s self and whoever survives — rebuilds to become better version of them.
Maybe life was all about making mistakes and doing it over and over again.. until the lessons were devoured by our minds.
Maybe life was all about being naked, stripping the last part of cloth, the last part of protection because only in nudity of the soul, you become yourself. Maybe that’s where you begin to know the real you.

Maybe life was all about filling one’s cup and then learning when to empty them.

 Maybe life shapes you through certain pressures, right molding, twisting, cuts and bruises, to strip off that last piece of cloth so you’ll be more comfortable, confident…

With your own skin and your own battle scars.

Maybe, sometimes you have to lose yourself once more, forget the old you, to become that person you want yourself to be.

Note to self:

Belated Happy 24th! You weren’t the scientist you dreamed of when you were just a fourth grader but you’re the writer of this blog. That’s whole a lot more cool because powerpuff girls were made by writers not by Professor X. 🙂

Be Awake

 

Our eyes is in waltz
When it’s bound to strike and ignite.
Was it just me, looking for signs
between those replicated sighs.
Is there any chance of crossing the lines
or am I the only one who thinks
that this is OUR time.

Halt the delusional myth
I created on my mind.
There were no cryptic things
it was just my imaginary universe
creating utopia — for you and I.

It seems safe to stay in this world.
But when reality slaps like ice splash in the face.

That’s when I know, it’s morning.

And I said ‘Hey self, be awake’.

 

 

The Man in Sleeve Tattoos

 

Their eyes throw stones of mockery,
Insolent and filthy, that’s what they see.
In every line drawn into his skin,
They believe he doesn’t fit in.

The least they know,
This man wrapped in tattoos,
On bended knees he sings.
Offers every thing to his King.

He screams, he growls,
And praises the Lord in fire.
Hypocrites don’t seem to matter.
GOD knows him way better.

Society thinks he’s a tinted threat
I wish they see what’s underneath.
Coz in heaven we are judge by our deeds,
And not by the tattoo on our sleeves.

 

1 Samuel 16:7

 But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

 

Micro Love Poems

 

One look and I know I’ll be vulnerable to you. So I always leave a space between us –too scared to plunge into the chances.

I knew very well from the start you’ll be my biggest fall, you were a pit fall meant to crack my bones. And you did. I was not meant to recover.

I have so many unwritten poems about you but your name is a subject I can’t dip my fingers into. I kept it safe and locked.

Careful, my honest tongue, should a word ever slip, I know I can’t have it back.

Young girl, stop putting colors over black and white. There was no grays. It was just you seeing the rainbow over his eyes.

And your soft laughter echoed –almost everywhere.

Let him be in every line of my poetry — let it stay there.

 

 

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time,

I have this little infinity on my grasp

Just like the movies, I fell in love under the city lights

Along the unknown passersby, we stood amidst.

Oblivious, silent connection drifting us nearer.

Our faces were veiled by the midnight cloak,

shield by anonymity we hugged so tight.

 

Once, my loyalty was confused

Into your deep brown eyes, it was drown..

Into the smell of  your sweatshirt,

Into the hands that once collided and then released.

In the city that treated us as sheer strangers,

It all happened  –once upon a time.

 

Chaos

Maybe all we need is a little time,

a little air, a little space to grow.

Maybe all we need is to let each other go.

 

It was Time

And in just a flick, I bury that part of my memory

I bury that part to the most secluded corner of my thoughts..

“It was time” my heart and mind said.

 

Time to cut the thread of hope, time to scrape every promising daydreams, time to stop thinking on the possibilities.

It was time — not to move on rather to move forward.

 

 

 

Her Daily Struggle

 

Her Daily Struggle

 

She’s been seeking too much

Frustration dawns her when there’s vagueness

One day, she was so sure of herself

The next day, she felt like a stranger

in someone else’s body.

I looked at her in the mirror

Yet all I can see is a tangible figure

— with a shadow overhead and

a rainbow smile in the crowd.

She didn’t noticed

the dark patterns she left every day.

The way she explains herself to almost everyone

Because that’s the way she like to be defined.

To constantly prove herself to society,

it deteriorates her sanity.

Her mind is a jungle and

the wildlife inside it were fighting.

People never saw the chaos inside her head.

She dressed and act normal but inside she is scathed

by her own self nagging.

She is her own critic. Her own hater.

She never saw that she wakes up and walks with her own enemy.

And it was her daily struggle to not think

that she only belongs to

the land of the misfits.

 

What Happened to US?

 

You were once my favorite portrait

But boy what happened to us?

When all the vibrant turns into shadow,

broken paint brush on the floor,

paper tainted with tears.

What happened to us?

 

The lines and the curves

that draw our memoirs,

yet now washed.

Like a clean slate or an

empty canvass,

What happened to us?

 

Years passed,

yet perfection still elusive.

My arms gone tired

and the once flaming passion becomes ash.

I lost the things

I thought would last.

My heart, myself and — us.

 

The room that once filled with sunshine

where the artworks serve as witness

of your backhugs

and forehead kisses,

— was never lighted again.

Boy what happened to us?

 

You were once the subject of my art

and now all I can write

— is our story and all of its sad part.

 

 

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