Thank you. Thank you for being you. You were trying. There were ups and downs, then some highs and some extreme lows. There were days when I felt hopeless and then there were days when I felt that there is light and all I need to do is just walk ahead and find it.
Thank you for letting me grow, giving me the courage to let go of things that are no longer needed. Thank you for those experiences that helped me have a new perspective about life. Thank you for the amazing new friends, the amazing new possibilities. I grew so much as a writer this year, met some amazing people, had meaningful conversations, travelled to see a different part of world, gave more time for family and healed some old wounds.
On those days when I felt that life was going nowhere I felt the tiny sliver of hope that some amazing thing is waiting around the corner. On those days when I felt that I couldn't take the next breathe I was reminded of my resilient spirit. On those days when I just wanted to end things I was reminded as to why I held on so long. Thank you for being you so that I could grow, evolve, learn more about myself, love myself and just be me.
You will forever be cherished. I'm excited for this new dawn and I welcome the new endless possibilities. A new year, one more year older and hopefully more wiser. Thank you. Now it's time to bid farewell cause something amazing is just waiting to be born.
my mother never called me beautiful; she said beauty was a farce, that it will fade and all that you can have is your character. she taught me not to raise my voice to have the right posture to be polite to elders to be respectful, always always respectful! she told me that patience and my ability to look beyond myself should be my greatest virtue that I should be selfless. my mother's heritage is in the list of things I couldn't do and shouldn't do while growing up. in the four walls of her home she was chained having forgotten how to dream my mother set the standards with which my life had to be measured. I don't resent her rather I mourn the spirit that she keeps carefully concealed within herself, that wild untameable spirit that might have helped her fly high in the sky. I wonder why she felt she couldn't dream, maybe cause no one told her that even sky is not the limit. my mother's legacy is deference to the society, their customs and traditions. it's the collective pain of her and all those who came before her, the spirits of all those women in my family who had to bow down to patriarchy, that wild spirit which shines brightly in their eyes but concealed behind a veil and never finds the courage to break their cocoon and come forth. my mother does not understand why I don't want the things others want, why I'm a rebel, why the conventional norms of society is abhorred by me. the society has moulded her so much that she has forgotten what being free is. when I want to soar in the sky she unknowingly wants to chain me, for the fear of unknown has been deep rooted in her mind and she does not know how to cut that tree down. when I am ready to fly high in the sky I will take a second to mourn the loss of her spirit who was forced to be voiceless and concealed as if a sin. my mother never called me beautiful, even today she does not. but that's okay. my beauty is in the courage that she couldn't muster, the courage I draw from the collective cry of the spirit of every women that was shackled to feed the needs of this society. . legacy // paro . Image via weheartit .
I have always wondered how do we stop loving someone, maybe the truth is we don't; we just bundle up all our love and then bury it in some dark abandoned corner of our heart and then gradually forget all about it. if we dug up that grave one day, that love will bloom again like wildflowers and spread rapidly across the vestiges of our heart. maybe moving on is a lie we tell ourselves, a lie that is comforting. a lie we tell in order to make peace. maybe we never stop loving someone; a piece of our heart will always beat for them and all we do is learn to live without them. then eventually the indifference sets in and that love is lost in the pages of an unfinished poetry; lost but still so much alive, yet no longer needed or acknowledged, just a memory of something that was a beautiful forever, imperfect, incomplete and an eternity wrapped in the exhale of time. . moving on // paro . #writersnetwork#pod#readwriteunite#mirakee#MirakeeWorld#mirakeeworld#bombgang_committee#bgg#bgc#love#heart#heartbreak#writer#soul#love#lovepoem#movingon