Arms Open

'We must be willing to get rid off the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us..'

Pyaarun or praarun. Still the same. Always waiting.

Slowly each second trickles away beneath us in the shadows we leave behind. Our lives filtering away, the dregs a remnant of our pasts. The good and bad all lumped together into one. What is it really that is important, the things that will stain our characters and our speech from each incident that we fly through, pausing for a moment and then onwards again?

We are always in a state of anticipation, waiting for things to end or as they are just about to begin.

Are we ever happy being as we are, laying down in the middle of our fields, faces lightly touched by the winds, ignoring our innate sense to rush. In our eagerness to live life, we forget to immerse ourselves in it, saturating our lives with all that there is; the simple things, the things that make us smile. You can't stop things being as they are meant to be, so for now, love it as it is.

There are those that question each smile, as though they are rationed, saved only for occasions where they are called upon in the name of formality and good conduct..

Mine are for me, for my secrets and my joys, each memory laid down in my field.. So let me live my moments and let me bare my soul to each of the winds that pass by.

Let me live my smiles..

Alone

There are times when we shroud ourselves in silence; when we can’t gather enough strength to speak. When our eyes remain dull and we no longer care about what people see. We lock ourselves away and feign madness of the soul, whilst we secretly hope to be freed from the darkness that we did create.

It is an oft forgotten torment, to be alone despite the calls, and despite the start we spoke of, we wish for the end of it all.

Miracles

It is within our nature to accept all that we see and not question the miracles behind the 'norm'. I think it is time that we truly opened our eyes and realise the power and beauty behind all the things that we take for granted.

Birth.

People are born every day. We have all been born. We are born to the born. There are souls waiting, still yet to be infused into a body, to give it life, and be born..

We become immune to the act of birth, accepting it as an ingrained part of living, as a part of nature's circle, where we cast the woman as playing only a minor role, despite it being her that is the instrument through which new life begins. Carried, loved, and protected for up to nine months before it's even born.

Whether it is the love in companionship, or the fiery passion of desire or even hate, a man and woman come together in the laws as nature dictates, and carry out the acts of blessings that are ingrained within each soul, somehow aware of what to do. And from there lies the possibility that a life shall ensue from their night.

Birth, I have witnessed a number of times, but have yet to see the joy that one would expect by finally holding one's child. The women that I saw, lay back in shock, exhausted and immune to the dank atmosphere, their eyes blank, unseeing of the others giving birth in the same room. Perhaps it was the metal chairs that stunned them into silence, or perhaps they were afraid for this new life, brought into a world of suffering and pain, although thankfully, there were no bombings or gunfire that day to be heard. But what about the lady who was sharing a bed with two others and had her child whilst laying there with no cry to be heard, from neither mother nor child.. The child had already passed away, held within the womb, lifeless and still, a loss felt even before its birth. Noone could shed a tear.

And then today..

Standing outside a presitigous hospital, with which I had only memories associated with death, I witnessed new life again. Indeed, the circle was broken, and now the memories can start anew.A lady stood by the lamppost, supported by her husband, her pain clear to all those around, whilst passers-by gave nervous glances and hurried along, unsure of what to do. In a sudden rush, she stood in a puddle and cried out that it would not wait. And out came her child, a beautiful baby boy, caught safely in the arms of his father, who looked stunned to say the least. In the time that it took to reach her side and see if there was anything I could do, another lady came by and wrapped the child in her coat, assuring them by the cries of the baby, that it seemed perfectly fine.

I had never before understood how a mother finds their child beautiful when it emerges from birth, shrivelled and in need to be cleansed, but looking past the murky covering, I stood in complete awe. This was a life. A child. A living, breathing, beautiful part of her, and a part of the man that she loved. Together, they had created something unique. Something that now claimed their undying love. The absolute miracle of life, waiting for noone, and on the time its Lord has decreed.

There are wonderful things all around us, that surround us and should inspire us. We are each miracles ourselves and we should be thankful for all it is that we have, despite the pain that we may feel. God sees each child enter this world, God will see each soul leave, and God is always there for us if we look for Him, whilst we live in whatever manner that we choose.

I pray for us all.

Stitched Tight

Cross-hatched in its weaves
As we look up from below
Where each lash curls inside
Stitched in hard to our throws,
From a blanket lined afar
Whilst a veil within our eyes
Leaves us blinded, to reach out
Burnt through down each phase,
And our calcified lies
Pour through a stitched glance
As we are once again born
In the darkness of dance.

New Beginnings

There are times when we run out of words, when all that we can do is sit back and enjoy their light, a noor not seen before, but will the silence be accepted as a part of who I am, when all that they may expect is the voice they hear ringing through.

I am afraid.

Enclosed

As we wait, the shrine of our prayers glides in fixed temptation upon our hands, as the softened strokes call for bliss, and vain glory waits for our return.

It remains as it always is meant to be, another test.

This one seems to be for me.

A Curious Line

It was a hardened fall that broke out each hollowed hope, and let time keep her distance as she seemed to grow down heavens guarded rope. But whilst no longer holding out, a turn of events started to build their place amongst the few that came and went. Dreams for the beginning to let the end build its career in unearthed fires allowed each shadowed figure to glance out from behind the lit and darkened desires. It was time to let go and to let the realities play out their play.

Watching from past lines, I bow down and take the stage for my own, as the ghostly hands applaud the night sky as it rains down in time to each mortal dance that I try. A dance that devours and the mind it enslaves, and drags memories out from deep beyond our hidden graves. And within the graves of sin, we let the dust settle upon our souls, twirling in time to the music, a melody of ancient times, long ago foretold. Awaiting for the signs, our lips struggle to find their place, as in each swinging line, we remain firm in each untold embrace.

And as we wait, the shrine of our prayers glides in fixed temptation upon our hands, as the softened strokes call for bliss, and vain glory waits for our return.