What It Whispers.

aura.

Swirling emotions within
Shades of grey, white and black
Flicker like no tomorrow
A moment is enough
For me to inhale the essence of the smiling face
I shut my eyes
And pass into oblivion
Reality hits hard
I wake up to find
That indeed the streaks of white
Are slowly greying
But somehow within
What it emanates is still white
I thank God
For the purity that remains even now.
But the erratic beatings suggest otherwise
As a wave of ink black storm rose up
And left me drenched.
Anticipation, hope, hopelessness and fear over takes
The purity of white
And paints it briskly with grey.
And as the sky turned murky
The heart hurt.
For it missed nothing more than the white aura it held,
Falling on her knees she murmered to the One Above
Shedding tears that resembled the serene rain drops
She felt herself healing
Boy, did it hurt.
As she shed and shed
Having nothing left behind
The brush drenched in pitch black
Broke into pieces.
It was slow
And it hurt,
But the streaks of white
Began to reappear
Soon enough the greying aura vanished into thin air
She smiled..but still it hurt.
For she had lent a part of herself
To something that might not be hers...

Wouldn't call it her fault.
For she was merely a dreamer
Who dreamt fiercely
Unfortunate or fortunate
She had been clipped off the wings
And was asked to fly sans any wings.
She asked how?
They said well isn't that what you always wanted?
She nodded...but how?
How will she fly when the dreams that burnt fiercely
Were burnt down to ashes in front of her eyes?
How will she bring back the passion that was once a glint in her eyes
When now, her eyes were clouded with the darkest shades of pessimism
Why would you strangle her to let her breathe eventually?
How will the dead be brought alive in a mere second with her humanly hands?

May God help the dreamers who dream right,
May God protect the hearts that don't beat for the shallowness of this world
May God guide the ones seeking light
May God help the ones shedding tears to paint themselves pure once again.
May God restore the right she was born with- the right to dream.

It had always been so that,
The ones who give selflessly
Are the ones beaten down the most.
The ones who hold onto honesty
Are exposed to a plethora of lies
Intentional or unintentional
Promises of being there forever
Happily ever after
Goodness in everything that the loved one does for you
Weren't they lies too?
These souls grew up slowly but steadily
Under the dark looming clouds of darkness and heavy clouds filled with colours
That went beyond the seven ones.
She finds herself strangled and muddled in the shades between
Neither belonging to the dark or light
But just right in the middle.
Looking either ways
If any kind one would pull him or her to the right one...
But as always,
Mediocrity is for one to discover oneself
And for one to sprint towards where the heart points!
Waging war against the thunderous claps that ask you to settle
For mediocrity
Just because everyone else had done so
Isn't wise in the least.
Because if you had been brave enough to dream
Then dare to show that you can do it.
All by yourself.
Don't retaliate.
Hold the brush firmly
Let not anyone grab it from you
Paint your world
Remember, happiness need not always
Be painted with flimsy and flashy colors
Sometimes it is merely white.
Subtle, calm, peaceful and welcoming...
That leaves its arms open for every other color to blend in.

Perhaps the erratic beatings might have thrown up a little bit of grey
But she stood up because she dared to dream
Then how wouldn't she not show?
She wanted white... And she ran behind it.
Eventually white sprinted towards her
And they both were an embodiment of two
Within one.
The dreams weren't burnt down again,
Passions never clouded up again....
For now she was white. And she welcomed and embraced
But never lent anyone the brush she held onto firmly.