Mask

Wear that mask,

Get into character,

Responsibilities call

Buckle up!
Dare not be different,

Difference is flaw.

Heart be damned,

Damned be those,

Weird and misfits?

Equations of loss.
The way you think?

Who cares for that?

How you look ?

Well we can talk about that.
Speak your mind,

But be ‘appropriate.’

Want to live your life?

Oh sure! 

Don’t forget the rules society create. 
Lost yourself already? 

But I told you to be yourself anyway!

Be independent!

You can’t fall.

And if you do better hide it if you want to make it to your goal!
Wrapped in covers on bed you’ll lie,

Cry if you want,

Just be back to work before half past nine.
Your heart will be broken,

Pain will subside,

Stitch it together,

In just anyone you can’t confide.
Humans are selfish creatures you see,

If you find one you better put your best smile

Because they all wear masks,

A true one?

That’s a myth girl,

Myth created to keep this artificial world alive. 

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Spilled Ink

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People are not supposed to fit into boxes,
Their is no measurement for souls,
Thoughts have no borders,
No fences can stop destiny’s call.

Emotions are not a weakness,
Scars doesn’t mean ugly souls,
Tomorrow may not be there tomorrow,
It don’t always hurt when one falls.

Its okay to be angry,
Its okay to not have everything at a certain age,
Pain is not the end,
Recovery is the next stage.

Passion has no ‘impossible’,
No dream is too crazy,
No belief is too stupid,
Not all that is broken is useless,
Not all art has a form.

Not all pretty is beautiful,
Not all happiness is temporary,
Not all question resonate a doubt,
Not all that is lost cannot be found.

Those who can’t wait are not impatient,
Sometimes even right now seems too long,
Not all stories need words,
Sometimes spilled ink write better songs.

Not all who didn’t hear are deaf,
Not all who didn’t see are blind,
Not all need a story,
Sometimes actions convey it better than any language or sign.

Sky is not the limit,
There is always a ‘beyond’.
Souls are supposed to blow apart.
Constellations to be held in palms.

We need more stories of imperfections,
More wild hearts,
More people who lived their dreams,
More beautiful endings to a beautiful start.

Mother

She thought she will hate the rain forever for it took away the first love of her life, little did she know this rain will be the reason she could be the first love of those tiny feet and little hands she now call her life.

Something for mother’s day. A mother’s love is the purest form of love and when it forgets all prejudices and overlooks the fact if the child is blood related, it becomes something sacred and heavenly. 🙂

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A drawing I made almost 5 years back. 🙂