See Thyself.


abstract 4

The curves of the ‘y’s and the ‘g’s, the pattern of the black ink against the whiteness of the paper, the flow of thoughts imprinting its confidence on the sheets; these are a tangible proof of a life that is worth living, proving to oneself that we think, we breathe, we live. The beauty of using pen and paper to set free of what is within you has always intrigued me. And it is because of this enigmatic fascination that I often find myself writing down reminders of what my mind unapologetically weaves.

‘See Thyself.” is a classic example of one such reminder – this poem was penned down only to adorn the cover of my notebook. If it had not been for a very dear friend, who upon accidentally reading it had exclaimed with wondrous, sparkling eyes that this was her favorite from all of my earlier attempts at poetry, it would not have lived to see the status of a blog publication.

For you, my friend:

The pitter patter of the rain,
Makes puddles on the blotched ground.
It mirrors your face,
And what you see surprises you.

Eyes that are illuminated with hope,
A nose shouting stubbornness.
Determination outlining your mouth.
A cherubic softness masking the ugliness of battles lost.

But was it a lost battle?
Do scars judge thy success?

You are alive, are you not?
You are flying, are you not?
You are the progeny of strength and love.
You are the destiny of happiness and success.
You are the past of a glory that reigns supreme.
You are an infinite testimonial to the trivial autumn of life.

Smile through the cracked mirrors.
Wink at unforeseen swords.
Shy away from nothing.
chest la Guerre everything.

It is summoning you,
Reaching out for you,
Wading towards you.
It is emotive.
But it is celestial.
Ahoy, it is magic!

Turn it away not!
Incarcerate yourself no more.
Soar away.
Swim away!

‘Tis sonorous of colors.
And the clock is ticking away.
Wait no more.
Embrace the enchantment that is yours.

Listen to the rustling of the leaves.
Watch the flight of birds.
Feel the flow of water.
Hug the gush of wind.

They are yours.
You are theirs.
D’accord?

 

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