they say : star crossed lovers
and i say : the heart and the mind that agreed with one another.
sometimes it wasn't beautiful to feel yourself ripping part at the edges.
balconies were made for crying alone,
bathroom tiles knew about the tears that glowed.
maybe there came a point in my life where i couldn't remember how to pick myself up.
like the light shining through the edges was just a hoax,
a mere image constructed by the part in my brain that held my soul.
[look, I even forgot that my soul travelled to my heart a long time ago and made a home out of it.]
but life went on.
i trudged on -
simply because i didn't know how to do anything else.
my feet were tired and my heart was more than just heavy,
but i went on - without a path, without a place, without a map.
people would look at me and sigh.
i didn't let them carry my weight.
until one day -
i laid myself down under the tree of exhaustion
and set my bags free.
the tree provided me a great rest and a wonderful shade.
when i woke up, the world seemed a brighter place,
but maybe it was only because i had given my eyes some rest.
my feet were healed - my heart felt light : it had cried out all its debris.
i had been cured.
i settled my bags well again,
drew a map,
figured out the roads -
and continued on my way.
••••••••••
POET'S NOTE
[whatever you're doing, if you're really tired, just take a break - literally and figuratively,
and then trod on with your life with whatever you're doing.
organise your life, take rest, eat what you like.
remember to take breaks.]
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
