Our mundane becomes history
And the things we cherish
Are long forgotten.
In a decade, or two,
When you stare at
The fine lines and wrinkles
That mar your skin,
The photographs
That line your walls
Shall stare at you.
They will be but faded memories
Waiting for you to remember
The person you used to be.
Your laugh will echo around you,
While you frown
At your stretched skin.
And your tears shall cry for you,
When they see you cry
For your beauty long lost.
The grey in your hair,
A mark of your struggles,
Shall seem ever more ugly
When you try to hide it
Behind artificial colors.
And what is a life lived,
When it is a life full of regrets?
Let those photographs
Be not mere memories,
Let them be feelings and emotions
Frozen in time.
Let not those wrinkles and fine lines
Be your demons,
Let them set you free
From the shackles
Around your feet.
Let not those grey streaks
Seem like blemishes,
Make them your strength,
A sign of your survival.
And that is a life lived,
A life lived, but never forgotten.



True Warriors

The things unsaid,
The words unheard,
The silence never felt
And tears unshed.

The whispered apologies,
Unseen grief,
Hiding behind the curtain
Of a beautifully hollow smile.

Read between the lines.
Read and unread,
To try to decipher
The hidden meaning.

Look for the signs,
Behind those grieving eyes,
For wounds and bruises,
The ones they try to hide.

The scars that mar their bodies,
A testimony of their survival.
These are the true warriors.
Fighting the monsters under their beds,
Both metaphorical and literal.


Doing my bit this women’s day. Speaking up against domestic violence. Please do your bit. In whatever way you can. Happy Women’s Day.