poetry

The Externality of Attachment

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The heart purrs with joy, as you speak,
The mind reveres caution, posing a question,
The heart sighs, with an uneasy acceptance.

All that is revealed is an understanding,
To not let go again, the idea of an independent self,
With freedom, sustenance and more.

The self however scoffs, reprimanding the distancing,
Requesting to jump at the opportunity,
To live a little and to set free from self-created boundaries.

At this thought, a shallow laughter then lingers,
Latched tightly to the in-bound fears,
Tied to the memories so dear.

 

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Anger

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The flame engulfs him suddenly, ferocious but untempered,
The muscle loses its control,
The mind turns inept to garner any reasons,
The actions taken are unquestioned,
Regret that later persists stays…

The flame engulfs him steadily,
Prepared to stay there for long, nurtured enough to be strong.
To obediently shadow him around, everyday and everywhere,
With a motive, to be a part.
Decisively taking over, even more…
From mind to the actions, from petty aggressions to enormous reactions.
It is the gift that he receives all his life, until he decides to let go…

The flame engulfs him, as he stops, realising the futility.
Maybe even more, the desperation to be free.

Guilty

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When I see out there,
All I observe is a cruel world,
Mocking people with more than one can usurp,
There is pain, There is suspicion,
There is feeding on someone else’s emotions.

I stand here feeling guilty of the same,
Every time I laughed on somebody else’s weakness,
I lostĀ  a part of myself, my integrity,
Deep inside I knew it was wrong,
But for some unfathomable reason I carried on,
I feel the misery in me, asking me to promise to never do it again.

But I fear that tomorrow I might end up commenting,
on somebody else’s attempt to try something new,
Maybe a new language or a skill to speak of few.
Or that I might end up mocking somebody else’s petty flaws,
As I desperately hide my own imperfections behind the shallow laugh.

I fear that I will fail to understand how hard one is trying to fit in and to be right,
Not realizing their predicament or how my comment would affect.
Maybe, because of me they would stop trying and I’ll be guilty for life.

It’s a mystery to me how we feel honored in somebody else’s grim?
But who am I to speak?
As I happen to be guilty of the same time and again.

 

 

The Wee tales 49

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Lose yourself this little while, 

In books, poetry, art and smile, 

Only to realise what you’ve been missing all this time.