I often trespass my own territory,
hoping I would find you peeking,
looking for the girl, I used to be,
I am still the same, little changes - here and there...
But the place I had in my heart,
the one I owned, the one I refuse to part,
still needs reassurance like a child,
clinging...
still looking...
for those loving eyes...
In the twilight of her heart, she stands,
A fragile reed swaying between storms,
One born of the tender ache of love,
The other, a tempest of bruised whispers and broken vows.
Loves her blossom though not free of thorns,
In need of sunlight, yet shadowed somehow,
She cradles it in the soft folds of her will,
Shielding at times and and at times failing at her own peril.
While, the roots of her love entwine,
Between the blossom and the tree,
A fortress built of dreams; sometimes crumbles,
and she’s forever picking the ruins, hoping to rebuild.
Her own dreams, flicker of a distant flame,
Fanned by the winds of duty and desire,
They dance on the edge of her consciousness,
Never extinguished, but often dimmed.
She is the keeper of a delicate balance,
between the wrong and the right,
A tightrope walker into the dark night,
With a faulty safety net and no applause,
only silence,
Living on the verge of ecstasy and despair
And getting recharged with every sliver of hope and all that’s fair.
Woke up to a new me,
No, it wasn’t morning
It was a random moment of a random day,
Just thinking about what I left on the way,
I will try and find my way,
away from the thoughts that hold me back,
Who gave them the power?
I think it was me,
so, then the power resides in me,
to give and take,
to break and remake,
to whistle and dance,
rekindle a romance…
Accepting the way things are,
accepting the way people are,
accepting everything…
But did it dampen the fire within?
Maybe am not here to accept,
Maybe am here to challenge,
And challenge, I do,
Hear some hurtful words or two,
I accept those,
Move on,
Circle back to the same old show,
Acceptance once more,
But expectations - No more…
I was never much of a talker, but now I talk less.
worried about my words and the mess they make.
I was never so unsure,
but I believe the time has its way,
of changing and moulding you,
or is it the people and company that surround you?
I oft find myself enchanting a crowd,
and then in front of one, I lose my ground,
no, it isn’t love,
that cannot be expressed,
criticised every step of the way.
I may not be good at all,
but a small flaw cannot be my fall.
Or can it?
Did the old me question herself so much?
Questions? Questions? And some more…
I would love to have a conversation,
just talking,
not the judgement galore...
