Closing this book before it begins would be a tragedy, so we keep re- reading our lines, repeating what we know is right. When I’ve fallen close to the ground you keep me floating. How long ‘til you give in? My heart can’t emerge from below the ground if you don’t fight for new soil. Mud dries, pages loosen. This story starts with you and me.
An arduous path, fate has set before me. The kind which relentlessly taxes my spirit and has begun to slowly erode the very seams of my sanity. The deafening cries inside my mind keep me awake and the deception, lies and manipulation have made their mark on my thoughts. The decision to forgive and not seek retribution has now weakened the once willful patient man. They say that those who leave such matters to faith and goodwill eventually find peace.
Does the father, who withdraws; not because of the unending repression by the ruffians hiding behind their false agenda, but due to his deliberate choice of not separating his daughter from her mother, not deserve better? Or would it have been wiser for him to have unleashed his wrath until he could have had her in his arms? On this path, I have found that a father who withdraws for the sake of his child has a love far greater than the one who does not. I would have never forgiven myself, for letting you be used as leverage by those who sought mischief. I left you in God’s care and I hope you have the same heart as me for you will need it to climb out of the moral-less abyss.
I could write a hundred words, to express how much I miss you and how I long to see you, yet when I start, there is little I can muster. So, for this Father’s Day, I managed to get a painting made for you which I hope holds true to the adage; a picture is worth a thousand words. May you always be happy and healthy and may you always choose the right path, no matter how hard it gets. May you find peace through morality, like I did.
I could’ve written about The stars shinning And the moon hanging low that night. The sea kissing the shore and The warm wind softly moving The hair from my face. The trees swinging In the calming melody. Or the smell Of salty sea that Tickled my nose. But all I could write About that night Was you and only you. How your eyes pierced Through my soul. How your skin Covered me like The softest blanket And your lips Felt like mellow strawberries. The smell of you Got me drunk on your love. We were high that night And I think that even The man on the moon Was envious of our love.
Constantly remind little girls how beautiful they really are. because too soon, they will be swallowed up by the toxicity of society; their minds twisted and warped by unrealistic beauty standards and pencil-thin women on their screens. remind them of what the truth is; that they are truly gorgeous no matter what society tells them.
I was standing on the porch of my house, which was slowly decaying as the principals that I had made the house from waned. There was a strange whisper in the wind that carried a vague message. It seemed to be a message of hope. Rain was coming. I stood there and stared at the vast sky and anxiously waited, so I could greet it. The sun slowly grew a little colder, from blistering hot to a pleasant warm as the dark clouds that carried rain slowly entered the scene. A smile appeared on my tired face after a very long time. I clapped my hands in joy and stared at the sky and the fields. The rich blend of colours in the scene gave me a new kind of energy, perhaps a fresh perspective. The brown fields, thirsty for rain, moving in waves as wind passed through them. The brown faded into blue and the fields became the sky, which had grey clouds slowly covering its entirety. The yellow of the sun was scarce now, but it was still present.
The first drops of rain came gently, slowly moistening the dry ground. I put my hand forward and let the drops fall on my arm. I took a deep breath and reveled in the smell of rain. The dry soil and the rain drops created a pleasant petrichor which reinforced my bones. I laughed and watched the rain wash and water my fields. For a moment, all my principals grew as strong as ever and my house was renewed. My personality and my character which I had used to decorate the house was enhanced. The floor of empathy and the walls of honesty grew stronger. The roof of kindness and the doors of generosity, the windows of love, the furniture of simplicity, the curtains of hope, the fence of loyalty and the foundations of modesty; everything was suddenly restored or so it seemed. The paint of honour and integrity that covered the house was as bright as ever. I smiled and stepped into the gentle rain. There was a calmness that I had longed for quite a while now. I closed my eyes and let myself soak.
There was a sudden flash of very bright light, followed by a great sound. My eyes opened and I was shaken. I looked up to the sky in question, and there was another bright flash of light and another noise. It was thunder, and it worried me more than it scared me. I have found that loud, invasive and immoral people bring ill things with them, and the same applied to the thunder. It was not just rain; it was a storm. The calm before the storm was but a device of nature, much like the treachery of people who build trust before deceiving you. The rain grew in volume and in intensity and there was a relentless onslaught. The field, I saw were now drowning, and the mischievous water seeped into my house and soon, I was waist deep in a flood. As I waded towards my house, It disappeared right in front of me. There was nothing left, and I stood there in disbelief. All those years, all the hard work gone.
Immersed in monotony, one may wish for time to travel fast, Make no mistake; all will wish for time to stay. One should’ve learnt that all of time travels to the past, And that’s with you, riding on the back, one day.
Although, isn’t a moment measurable, Not through numbers but through emotion? Lest one forget, time isn’t always pleasurable, Like a fine sea, to a flailing ocean.
The dye is cast, And the fabric is sodden red. Amongst the other clothes, It stands out.
We sat, and you shared the bad news. Upon reflection, I can’t believe your calmness. All men die, trust one, one knows, But to claim the inevitable as some grand design… No.
There’s pain of the flesh, pain of the soul, She’d have always said stay, despite the cold. So I light a fire that roars softly, The ash wood crackles, I told myself then, that the wood I see, Was once a living tree.