Sometimes

Sometimes, it’s ok not to be strong enough;

And feel vulnerable to every misery

Indisposed to fears;

Ascend towards deciphering our inner selves  

Sometimes, it’s ok to cry and shed tears;

Feel naïve and sorry

It would churn the twinge inside out;

Remnant would be less jittery

Sometimes, it’s ok to walk alone;

Love our own self explicitly

Consider outstanding

And be benevolent to the gracious “I” 

Sometimes, it’s ok not to be at the receiving end;

That doesn’t mean we cease to give

Bequeath; Abundantly and Selflessly,

Contentment received at the end is priceless

Sometimes, it’s ok to let go;

Of the people who were never meant to be,

Of the place we never belonged to, and

Of things that remind of relentless sufferings

Sometimes, it’s ok to stick around for a little more time;

Even when we are unsure of the final decisions,

And insecure about the same

Convincing; Endings to be better than the transit itself

It’s Ok. Sometimes.

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What Is It; If Not A Poetry?

This is not a poetry;

Not the one that you are familiar with.

This is a sigh; The wail of my heart;

The one that you refuse to envisage

And here I live; Out in cold, homeless

Homeless, since your heart was my home;

In which, now resides your arrogance and vanity

If only you could see through and perceive,

And could discern the difference.

This is not a poetry

Not the one that you are familiar with.

This is a different sky; The sky of my visions;

I recurrently go on excursions across it

And spread the wings of my dreams so wide;

That they could just bolt away and glide high,

Outrageously high; Along I fly with them too;

Befitting into the cocoon,

Obliterating every possibility of defeat.

This is not a poetry

This is a different season; The season of my desires

Could there be another winter so cold;

And I could lie torpid sans obligations

Could there be another summer so hot;

I could walk barefoot destitute of getting burns

Could there be autumn so beguiling and vivid;

All I could want is to be surrounded with peace,

Vibrance, Tranquility and Quietude.

This is not a poetry

This is just a piece of my heart;

Of all the likeness and distinctness of my feelings

This is the contour of my sketch;

Finding  it’s purpose through the canvas of my soul

This is a ditty;

I would utterly love to sing out loud.

“My hope is to be hopeful enough;

To spot the light even at the darkest end of the tunnel”

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