It's Not Your Fault...

Its not your fault the way you feel -
those senseless thoughts, them teary eyes,
how well you know to smile and heal:
the scars on your soul, those hopeless cries.

Its not your fault when you cant hold back
those tears that reflect your vulnerability,
its fine, you know, to let them crack
the bubble of your sensibility.  

Its not your fault if it takes time
to move on and embrace reality;
oh! its your life and life is a climb -
a climb that promises no absolute clarity.

Resurrection

Like the petals that resist to fall
and the flower that holds uptight,
she rebelled against her fate
who was it to decide what is right?

As the days pass by and nights,
the flower withers away;
despite the strength and vigour
those petals lose anyway.

Their loss is like hers too,
for they die inside and out
to pave way for another
more beautiful bud to sprout.

Oh, I wish I can believe them say,
that time heals all the wounds
if it was true, my friend
new buds won’t have to bloom.

White Indifference?

Pain leaves her body like it was never there. There, where it resided for moments that were an eternity long. What it leaves behind, however, is even worse: the feeling of indifference; of restlessness; of implied resentment. She defies herself, her body, her mind. Her soul seeks its breath from outside her body trying to escape the anarchy inside. She is indifferent. But is she really?

Indifference is like the color white. It encapsulates all the feelings that amalgamate into one when in motion all together. From the calm of violet to the rage of red. It ensures their participation if they promise to retain the state of chaos. Hence, all merging into one – an undeniable state of indifference.

But how can indifference equate the color white? How can one even make the mistake of comparing the impure with pure? Drastic with calm? Hideous with beauty?

Maybe that’s how it is.

We are obsessed with giving different meanings to things. With assuring distinctions. What if there are no distinctions? What if indifference is a process? What if white indicates a process too? A process of understanding what we already know and accepting what is there before us. Maybe, that is why they cover bodies – of those once alive – in white. Maybe, that is why we cover our hearts – that were once alive – with indifference. 

A First.

She felt it when she first saw him.
They looked at each other and then looked away.
She didn’t even notice him then. Or herself.

She felt it when she first learned his name.
They were strangers and that, she knew very well.
Why his name stood out, she couldn’t figure.

She felt it when she first talked to him.
they conversed under an obligation: she to ask for a favor; he to give the favor.
She didn’t plan any of it. It just happened.

She felt it when they first met.
He was dressed up in attitude; she in unjustified confidence.
They weren’t meeting each other. They just happened to be around each other.

What did she feel? She didn’t know herself.

It was just there. An emotion as alien to her as he was.
It was a first in itself.