Give me hope,
Do not paint a picture of despair.
Give me hope my life was not wasted here.
Tell me I am loved;
Tell me I am capable of loving.
Fill the void that clutches my spirit,
That coldly rends away my last tear.
But time slips away to the future, now past.
How did this life disappear?
Why is it so fast?
Hold me, dear.
Hold me while I grow cold.
Hold me while I grow old.
There is nothing to fear in this world except dying alone, without love.
Today is Father’s Day; father is supposed to be a child’s first protector, mentor, and hero but unfortunately for many a father can be their first nightmare and tormentor, so:
Not a very happy Father’s Day for those children who have always been dismissed by their fathers whenever they wanted approval or to be appreciated.
Not for those children who suffer every day and want their father to reach out to them or help them and be there for them in their dark times.
Not for those children who felt envious or teary eyed every day while growing up when they saw other fathers being physically affectionate towards their children because they never received it.
Not for those children who never felt loved by their father regardless of how hard they tried.
Not for those children who got beaten up and bruised and molested by a father or father figure.
Not for those children whose father seemed to love and be proud of anyone else but their children and their achievements.
Not for those children who confuse abuse or rape for love.
Be good to your heart. Have faith on your soul. Embrace the flaws and acknowledge your perfections. Take pride in the victories but before that accept your defeats. Admire the scars and preserve the memories.
But most of all, be brave to be You. Don’t be afraid to face the world alone. Don’t keep yourself away from being your best friend. Don’t let loneliness tell you that you are alone as long as your heart beats ricochets signifying a life far more precious than any you have ever befriended.
Because when the storms come and the only sun is swallowed to an abysmal darkness, it is the fire within you that will light up the whole world.
So remember, you are Everything. You are Wonderful. You are Power. You’re a Warrior and you will soar through it all, every-freaking-time!
Have you ever felt like a feeling is slipping out of you, slipping away, so much so, that you feel a need to find ways to hold onto it? That the very foundation you believed in, the world you created on it’s platform..is crumbling to dust? How do you grasp onto the fleeting moment of an emotion before it’s gulped into a veil of numbness? Do you run after it? Do you catch it? Do you cage and tame it, if you do? Or do you let it go, because for once the lifelessness seems less scary, that it’s better for the numbness to swallow you than to let reality eat you up?
My heart was whispering painful tears
In the silence of the night
And when comes the morning light
I smile like nothing is wrong
Life goes on like nothing’s lost
My whispering heart knows it all
That pain is just a transition
And that happiness awaits in turns
You feel Miserable; you yearn for Appreciation.
You yearn for Appreciation; you yearn for Love.
You yearn for Love; you fall in Love.
You fall in Love; you have everything.
You have everything; but, you begin to lose one thing at a time.
You begin to lose one thing at a time; you lose Everything.
You lose Everything; you fall out of Love.
You fall out of Love; you feel Miserable
Life went by so quickly that it was impossible to keep track of all the things I had lost in the way. So many smiles I would never see again. So many roads I might never walk again. The old cassettes we thought were worthy to save and collect.
Life went by so quickly that it was impossible to keep track of all the things I had lost in the way. Like the way the bustling video shops closed down without any of us noticing. Like the way we could only reminisce now of how patient we used to be with lagging video games and weekly episodic melodramatic TV series.
Life went by and we evolved, grew and became the people we thought we would never. The veneer of innocence was lost someday and we never went back and searched for it.
Life went by and we lost things we never considered precious. But, now, some nights, they come back only to haunt. I am growing too fast. I am vanishing all too soon. If I had another chance, I would try to hold them tighter, but, then, I remember, sand sips out of anything that is broken, once. It’s done.
It’s such a brazen word, such a mouthful. Justice demands you to take it wholly inside yourself and grapple with it. It doesn’t get sidelined in a second or forgotten by the time it has been said, like peace or hope. It’s a heavy word, it doesn’t sit easy when uttered by one pair of lips and it needs more to join in. It doesn’t ask you whether you will be able to shout it. It has as much sway even when whispered.
Justice is such a brazen word, so much so the ones, who first decry it, are the last ones it reaches.
We’ve all been trained to exclude someone. It could be anyone. Literally anyone. And we all have our exclusions. Each one of us.
You have been given good justification and proper time to cultivate that tree in your mind that exclusion of that person is right. You meet people who exclude the same people and become satisfied with that belief more. It’s easy.
It’s inclusion that will be troublesome. You’d have to admit what you were taught was wrong, accept that a certain unlearning is required and actually take steps to withdraw from that school of thought. It’s a lifelong process. It’s hard. But it’s right.
When you look back at your life at 50, 70 or from your death bed, may you be filled with content that you lived a life that didn’t discriminate one hand from another, one soul from another.
There are so many people. They’ve so many stories. Sometimes they reflect a certain degree of discontentment, and their lips shiver and their eyes… They become wet, and then they let us explore a side of theirs no one ever could. There are so many with the tragedy of partition, there are so many mothers waiting for their son to come home, from that late night party, drooling of disgust, drunk and inebriated, and the strict fathers getting that phone call that their son didn’t make it through the accident.
There are so many lovers trying their best to help the other, the girl with that golden smile, left alone in the dark of the city, waiting to be rescued, and you see from the far away corner of the road, her smile glowing frequently. There are so many grandmothers taking care of their druggie grandchildren.
The echoes of these stories are heard thoroughly by every passerby, and these stories continue to echo, for days and days and years and centuries.
“My son, was the best son.”
“We gifted him a car. It killed him.”
“I loved him, but he left me.”
“Addicts never change.”