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  • barefoot 13h

    I do not
    Mourn the world
    Ending,
    Because it has
    Ended for me
    Several times,
    And every time , it
    Begins again in the morning.
    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 1d

    When was the last time
    You were genuinely
    Fiercely happy?

    Now,
    Would you answer this rather naive question
    Immediately or would you pause
    Before you access the inner realms
    Of your mind?

    Would you look up at the person asking
    The question and question his sanity
    Before answering because you can't
    Seem to believe that someone would
    Still bother to ponder over such simple
    Questions of the heart when the heartbeat
    Of the world is racing so fast to reach
    An illusory destination?

    Or would you just say that
    Happiness is overrated?
    And not mean it because even
    While saying the statement you
    Genuinely wish for the weather in
    Your heart to be less blue?

    Would you let love enter your answer?
    I mean has love not betrayed your hopes
    Enough for you to have to shun it from all your dialogues.

    Or would you stare in silence because
    The idea of happiness itself seems less
    Genuine when you are battling with scars
    That could do with just enough light
    Of mere acceptance if not happiness?

    Or would you ask the question back
    Hoping that the answer of another person
    Could help you figure out the terrain of
    Your own heart?

    And if you do find an answer that is
    Painted with sombre , light shades would you
    Take the risk of appearing like a clown
    To the world that demands on a happiness
    That is loud and expensive?

    And
    Would you allow yourself to know
    That the last time you were genuinely
    Fiercely happy , you were not aware of it
    Because you had taken it for a thing
    To be overlooked because it didn't mark anything
    Exuberant enough to be recorded in your soul?

    And if you somehow
    smile a little when you
    Finally arrive upon the moment that you had let your heart
    Be free enough to feel a happiness that
    Was unquestioned hence fierce, will you let that smile linger
    A little longer on your parched lips
    Cause it might be your way of telling the
    Life within you that you are actually capable
    Of genuine joy
    without any validation?
    Whatsoever?

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee,@sangfroid_soul

    Read More

    A single smile
    Is revolutionary in
    A world bent on
    Caging joy
    Within boxes of validation
    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 3d

    Hope is a funny thing , universe said.

    How so? The last living human asked.

    It let me believe that you would turn around in
    Your ways.
    Every time you chose annihilation over creation , I hoped .
    Every time you chose blood over heart , I hoped.
    Every time you chose to turn a blind eye to
    The Screams of the tormented soul of the world , I hoped.
    Against all reason , I hoped that you would see
    Through the facade .
    Through the stories that you tell yourself before you act against justice and humanity .
    Every time you acted as though your ideology weighed more than the lost lives of many , I hoped
    I hoped that if I just keep waiting for you to
    Remove the blindfold , life would flourish for once.

    Well , we tried . But the allure of power is greater than anything you could offer through your meagre
    land and air and water and even life , The human replied.

    Power over what ? The universe asked.
    Power over your own home?
    Power over the gift of life that has been offered without any conditions?

    The man looked down at the broken fragments of
    The world . He had nothing to say .
    He was too ashamed .

    Does this mean you have given up on humanity?
    He asked hoping for a ray of light in the darkness of it all.

    Universe looked at him with a pitiful glance. She could not believe that even now , this man was not willing to take up the responsibility of bringing back
    Light to the world . The man still couldn't see the simple fact that the miracle of justice that he was aching for lay not outside him
    but it
    lay within his own heart .

    Kneeling on the ground , he was looking up at her for salvation .
    While the treasure was lying there neglected amidst him . In the last shreds of humanity.

    Closing her eyes , universe ripped out her heart.
    And lay it down beside him.
    This is the last thing I can offer ,she said.

    Looking at the lifeless heart , the surprised man demanded for a heartbeat.

    And with tears in her exhausted face , the universe replied in a feeble, heart wrenching tone,

    It had been beating
    till my hope took its last breath.

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee,@mann_se_
    #closing

    Read More

    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 4d

    The mother
    Of the deceased child
    Held out her palm to the universe
    And
    asked her for justice.

    I thought that my child
    Was
    a miracle , a blessing, she said
    But I never knew that
    To be born draped
    In the color
    Of the night sky
    Is a curse in a world
    That celebrates only
    The morning sky
    Burning with the sun
    Of pride and arrogance.

    Ask the colourblind
    World , she shouted,
    if the color of the blood that they
    Spilt of my son is any different
    From the blood that their
    Blessed less dark children carry inside them.

    Ask them to tell me how
    His pain was
    Perceived to be
    of a different language only
    Because of the color of the skin the pain
    Was
    Inflicted upon.

    Ask them to
    Erase that moment when
    My child would have looked up in pain
    Seeking for a little bit of kindness
    If not for anything but atleast for the
    Fact that he was human too
    And had to take his last breath,
    Not receiving any sort of help
    Finally coming to the stark understanding
    The being human was not
    Enough in a world
    That had buried humanity within
    The thick skin of blind injustice.

    And finally ask them to Give me a
    Brush so that I can paint this world
    The color of white and
    White alone so that
    No child of this universe ever stands out.

    Lest he be killed for being the hue of
    The color that absorbs it all
    In bitter silence .

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee,@sangfroid_soul

    Read More

    Every
    Life matters.
    Irrespective of the
    Colour it is wrapped in.
    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 5d

    The Art of
    Letting go
    is an
    Expensive one to learn.

    We need to
    First eke out the
    Last shred of
    Courage.
    To believe
    That even without every
    Single thing that we are desperately
    Clinging onto ,
    We are every bit
    worthy of
    the space that we occupy.

    We then need
    To painstakingly learn to
    look at the world with
    A heart that is not heavy
    With the weight of the burden
    It has gotten used to carrying around.
    This might seem fairly easy ,
    Because who would
    Not like to be unburdened
    After all?
    But the truth is that our heart
    Gets so used to the hypnotic baggage of
    Everything we carry
    That it synchronises its heartbeat
    To the rhythm of the chains
    Keeping it caged.
    And so
    to wake up every day
    And to willingly coax the heart
    Into learning a song that isn't
    Born from the belly of the chains
    We entangle ourselves in
    Is a very , very hard endeavour to
    Undertake,
    One that costs every last
    Bit of hope we can
    Muster , a hope
    to experience the Joy
    Of flying unbridled at
    Any and all cost.

    And finally ,
    If we do find this courage
    And this power to follow the above,
    We need to be able to
    Know that the song
    That we have lovingly
    And Carefully taught our hearts
    To sing
    in the wake of being
    Free from our burden
    Is one that holds the
    Calibre and hue to be
    Totally embraced by the ears
    Of the universe.

    But once we
    Do somehow learn this
    Excruciating art
    Of letting Go ,


    We will surely
    rise
    From the ashes of
    Our outgrown past self
    like the phoenix,
    And the real beauty would
    Be that now we would
    Be holding onto something far
    More kinder and holier
    Than our burden,

    We will be holding onto
    Our truth and our love and our passion.

    To live so lightly
    On the body of the universe
    That she finds it in
    Herself to even
    Allow us to
    Fly

    Just a little bit.

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee,@sangfroid_soul

    Read More

    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 1w

    Nobody
    Really wants to hear
    The hard truth of making
    One's dreams come true;
    The sweat and the swords
    And the numerous lost days
    And moments lies in the background
    Like a pale yellow blanket hungry for sleep.

    It isn't that we
    Turn a blind eye
    To the struggle of seeing
    The beauty emerge from a sown seed
    It is just that the idea of
    Pushing through the filthy mud
    To blossom is not really worthy of the
    Glamour of Masked heroism.

    Yet in

    That woman who sweats
    Daily to cook you meals while you
    Sit building the castles of spectacular grandeur.
    Or
    The man
    Who toils unquestioningly
    To see you view the world in a kinder tone .

    Lie the true
    mechanism of our dreams.

    The dream belongs to them
    As much as it belongs to the heart that
    It emerged from
    for without the shadows
    Of the nameless sacrifices of so many ,
    Your heart wouldn't even be beating
    To dream .

    Truth lies in failures
    And in the attempts
    And in the struggles
    And in the illusions of a greater
    Tomorrow that numerous
    Invisible souls had to hold onto
    To make today a
    Day worth building
    A dream in.

    So when we dream,
    I think it is never
    For one individual alone,
    I think it is for the
    Entire world that had to adjust
    A little in their seats
    so that we could
    View the screen of life
    More clearly.


    And so
    To see a tree
    As not only a spectacle of beauty
    But also to appreciate the wind , the sun ,
    The mud , the storm and the music
    Of love that made it what it is .
    Is the measure of real success.
    For I guess without
    The background , the
    Foreground would never be
    Worthy
    Of admiration.
    For without the dark,
    Light would never

    Have been sought.

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee

    Read More

    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 1w

    The measure of
    Great love must
    Not be in the
    Happy ending-
    For ultimately it
    All ends with unbearable pain
    But in all the
    Happy Durings
    when every minute of
    Togetherness brought us a
    Little closer to infinity.
    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 1w

    Dear universe,

    I saw the tear rolling down the face of a mother yesterday, when she couldn't stop her child from falling and I was reminded of you . You must be feeling that way too , right? Seeing us fall into our self made traps of deception. I have always found it so easy to criticize you. I never understood how you could create a heart and not guide it home. It seemed cruel to create a life that is utterly oblivious of its origin. Erased of the source , it seems inevitable that we wander to find ourselves. I always wondered how could you do this. And then , when I see a bird push her child out of the nest , I sometimes believe that it must have been trust . Trust , That we will guide each other home to our skies. I have so many reasons to not wake up to see you sometimes. Yet I do , in the hope that you will find a way to hold me in your womb once again and make me whole . I feel so lost sometimes , dear universe . As though I am singing a song that is entirely out of tune with the rest of the world. And I fear to admit my strangeness even to myself . What if I lose my mind to the rhythm of the society? I have so many questions I want to ask you. About the color of the sky the day you made me , was it a dark grey or a candy pink? Did the world stop just a moment to welcome a new life? So many questions that I wonder if you would find enough time to put up with my curiousity.
    How far is forever?
    How deep is a heartbreak?
    How shallow is vanity?
    How curious is God?
    And finally, Do you care?
    Do you actually care about how we perceive you? You stand invisible and let us judge you based on how the world treats us. And you drink in our perception with equanimity and love . I admire this about you .Your ability to hold so many human minds. Perceiving and analysing and prodding through your being. I came from you and I will return to you but I want to live in such a way that when I do return to your invisible entirety , I leave knowing that I made the world a tiny bit more colourful . A little bit more insane .I think too much of sanity has led us too deep into despair . And we could all do with a fresh dose of insanity.A newer perspective. With which we hold you. I could reason with you forever about the idea of justice but I want to fall in love instead.Do you think that is naive? Irresponsible even? But time seems so limited and my heart too vast. And Love seems like the only real justice I can do to you. So when I say , I love you,Do you believe me dear universe? or Are you tired of being slaughtered for your gifts and being misunderstood?
    Impossible as it may sound from my aching heart ,
    I do love you .And I want you to know
    That all is well with my soul.
    And I hope all is well with yours too.

    Yours,
    Child of your heart

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee,@sangfroid_soul

    Read More

    p.s : the world is a little less heavy when
    I accept you .

  • barefoot 1w

    #past

    @mirakee
    @writersnetwork Thank you for the repost.Truly grateful.

    Read More

    Past, Storyteller
    Who Specialises
    In Illusions.
    ©barefoot

  • barefoot 1w

    This is not what you
    Wanted. This is what
    Was given to you . So treat
    It with the lightness of a
    Long time lover , my ma
    Tells me , When I complain to
    Her of the unfamiliarity I often feel
    Within myself for myself.
    Her words though true do not soothe me.
    No words have ever held
    Enough power to heal the immaterial.
    Burden I hold.

    I don't want to be analysed,

    I really do not want my heart to
    Be fit into an equation,
    Nor do I want my moments to
    Be weighed in a stone cold machine
    Tasting like metallic blood.

    What I want is something
    I don't know how to ask
    For.
    Because I don't know
    If it has an existence even. I know
    That I want
    To not feel like a stranger.
    It is exhausting to breathe when
    Your breath speaks a language
    That is foreign to you . You tell me
    To move on to something better , but I
    Don't understand the logic of leaving
    Behind unfelt seconds to wither away
    While you plant something new
    In the hope that you can feel the beauty
    Of it. As though it is the flowers in
    The graveyard that matter more than
    The lives that lay hidden
    Like stopped clocks in its terrain.

    It is quite a waste of time to
    Introspect in a world that revers the
    Extrovert but it is also quite a tragedy when time
    In itself is an intrinsic phenomenon that
    Couldn't exist if not for what out inner
    Self makes of it.


    What do you want?
    Tell me.
    In clear terms tell me cause
    I have never known how
    To want in a world that
    Was just given to me.


    I want to dissolve ,
    Yes I want to take my irrationality and my
    Poetry and the music of my being
    And dissolve into the fiber of this
    Universe , I want her to listen to the
    Music she created within me as me
    And tell me the lyrics that she intended for me
    To add to it. And when she does , I would ask
    Her to tell me , the name of the silence
    That couldn't be held any longer and hence resulted
    In the creation of a music
    That's me

    I want to know how
    It is that the pain of a child can be treated
    With so much love and understanding and how it
    Is that the pain of an adult be dismissed so
    Easily because
    It is assumed that the adult must know
    Better before letting himself fall like a child.

    Why is the pain painted with different Colors
    Based on the years of the fallen?
    One a deep red, and
    The other a black.

    I want to know if the joy
    That one allows oneself to feel
    Matter when it takes birth in a heart
    That has lost the map to
    Happiness altogether.

    And I really want
    To know if there will
    Come a day , when
    The world that
    Has been given to me
    Will also
    Be the world that I
    Actually want.

    @writersnetwork,@mirakee,@sangfroid_soul

    Read More

    ©barefoot