Mine.

My mother always told me,

“Be good, be kind”

Before anything else, be good.

In a world so fierce and harsh

I don’t believe I ever understood

 

Was there a place for her words?

 

A woman so tender, so mild I thought

Never realising that when tears shed from her eyes

It was hurricanes she was taming.

 

Beating, surging in her veins

These were never words she would need to say

 

She was strength, she was patience;

She was balance.

 

I,

I grew up with more opinions than thoughts

More thoughts than words

And more words than most

 

Somehow still believing I wasn’t doing enough.

 

Trying forever to find a place,

My place.

One that belonged to me,

That I belonged to

Safe, strong..mine.

 

In the ocean of questions

For every sea of confusions

There was a shore.

The sure shore that stood

Unmoving, unwavering, unchanging.

Unnamed, unthanked.

 

A calm glow at the end of every tunnel

A guiding light that never called itself out,

But just stood there, waiting for me to come home.

 

I watch my mother today,

Her grace and poise in every interaction

Of her with the world

With the old, the young, the living and the gone

A quiet song she shares, within, without

Her manifesto she bears

More a whisper than a shout

“Be good. Be kind”

I listen.

I’m home.

 

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The world and you.

I wanted to write something that meant something

Not just to me

Something meaningful

A feeling we have all felt

One that no one had found words for yet

I wanted to write poetry in motion

About ungodly devotion

A lyrical dance

A one last chance

The smile of a baby

A completely sure “maybe”

Watching the race of the raindrops

Timeless moments in which time stops

The integrity of a soldier

The fear of getting older

An “I’m fine” that means I’m not

A ‘no’ that means ‘yes’

The secret you spilled

And the one you’ll never confess

Solace in a stranger

Relationships that screamed danger

The one that got away

The one that never will

The luxury you could finally afford

The ever-pending bill

Childlike curiosity

Adult practicality

The love of a mother

Protection of a brother

Smoldering eyes that pierce, but don’t shine

The fading boundaries of “yours” and “mine”

The glow of the flame

Of a fire inside

The unsettling calm

Of a rising tide

Words that cut through the surface of skin

I wanted to write them all,

I wanted to write everything.

But in the end,

I wasn’t writing about the world

The wind, the stars or the seas

I wasn’t writing about a feeling they all knew

I was writing about the only one I know,

I was writing about you.