Broken things & Beautiful pieces.

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Broken, you think,

To be fitted into something of a whole.

You lie around in a shattered mess

A bit of pink here and a burst of turquoise there

With cracks all over.

Who, if anyone at all,

Is ever going to need something so raw,

So unpolished and rough, with edges that can cut

And hurt and sometimes make bleed?

Why, if for anything at all,

Would someone pick these pieces up

And put them back together?

But for reasons, they will,

For your broken pieces are fragments

Fragments of color and wonder,

Of rough edges but softer hearts

Of nothing fake but raw passion.

For you are not simply splinters of something collapsed,

Lying around waiting to be cleared away.

You are a mosaic,

A shattered masterpiece.

For you are something broken,

But beautiful, nonetheless.

Because she was a she.

“I’m going to play outside” she said,
But most kids were older than her.
Taller and stronger and she usually didn’t understand their games.
Hide-and-seek was their next game
But she was already tired from the tag game they had been playing.
“Lemonades, anyone?” he asked.
Hefty he was, ripe in his forties.
The 14-year old boy next door called him dad.
With her pigtails banging, she ran to get her share.
Plump and pink she was, wearing a red frock that ended right below her knees.
He watched her tiny naïve hands reach for a lemonade glass.
Her tiredness was obvious from all the sweat that marred her freckled
-face.
“Cartoons?” he asked.
No older than 5 and boy, could she say no to cartoons?
Of course she didn’t say no. Not just to the cartoons.
She didn’t say no to the things he did to her either.
A few minutes she protested, kicked and yelled.
A few minutes she cried.
She fell silent for the next few.
“I’m going biking!” her sister said,
It was their neighborhood and it was perfectly safe.
At least that’s what her mother thought.
Safe of course it was, for the 7 year old boy who played cricket every evening;
For the woman who baked chocolate cakes on New Year’s eves;
For the man in his forties who was always out-of-town on a business trip.
Safe of course it was, for the stray dog that roamed the street;
For the squirrels that would jump from one tree to another;
But was it safe for her? Was it safe for her sister? Her daughter?
What would she tell the other girls?
To wear proper clothes, to cover from top to bottom,
Or to disguise as a he?
So that they wouldn’t have to fall victim
To the pain that killed her childhood,
To the silence that engulfed her chatter
And to her secret that’s locked deep inside the dungeons of sorrow.
Of course, because she was a she,
And couldn’t disguise as a dog or a squirrel,
She lives chained to the silence, sorrow and secrets.

Because she was a she.

Wish.

I don’t quite remember the last time I wished for something.

You gave me everything I could ever wish for

The courage to always dream big

The strength to keep on believing

Every time my life went on a roller-coaster ride.

I had every doll I could ever wish for

And everything else daddy’s-little-princess wanted.

“Make a wish!” they’d scream,

I’d close my eyes shut and squeeze my brain to think of a wish

But the candle would be blown without a single wish ever being made.

This year however, I have a wish.

A wish I should have made on my every other birthday.

But it’s too late now.

Too late to go back in time and wish for your presence

By my side every time I blew the candles.

Too late to catch up with all those just-the-two-of-us rides we could have had

On our way to and back from the school

Too late to make up for all those let’s-watch-our-favorite-movie nights

Oh daddy, it’s too late to seek redress for my childhood which you were never a part of.

Your little girl has metamorphosed now,

This is my one last chance to have you by my side,

As I blow the candles for the 17th time,

Maybe it’s a bit too early to make a wish.

I’m making my wish this time, no matter what.

I wish you were here to be a part of my metamorphosis.

I wish you were here so that I can smear cream over your face.

I just wish you were here this time dad.

Mirrors that lie…

mirror

Fingers entwined,

Souls about to.

Hand in hand we would walk

Through the beaten roads of life

Every being would detest

This pair made in heaven

After all, I wasn’t so wise.

I look through crystal blue eyes

Into the window of your soul,

All cleanse and clever

Filled with cunning but cute love.

Then I take a swim,

In the deepest oceans of your mind

Oh! What have I found myself?

Genius at first thought

But no, there’s more.

Digging through i find

Jealousy swimming about,

Selfishness jumping around

A chill runs through me

As I finally understand

We were no more to go hand in hand

For a while I believed

Our souls were reflections of the other

Now I know, they were nothing but simply

Mirrors that lied.

 

Who was he, but a butterfly?

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He was right there,

On time, just like any other day.

His tender blue wings

Spread out, he sat there

As majestic as the kings.

With patience he waited

For his beloved to come about.

For she’d come only when the time seemed right

And that was, when the sun came out

To greet his subjects and portray his might.

Only then does she, raise her crowns

Colorful, attractive and spot – dead gorgeous,

For the day was hers to reign.

And he on the other,

Wouldn’t mind to exchange

His dear little life, hanging by a string

Just for the mere sight of his lady – love.

To see her bloom,

To know that he was her first sight

Were little joys he yearned for, through dawn, through dusk.

But little did he know that

After this very day,

She would be no more his,

To be touched, to be felt or to be embraced.

For she was destined to adorn

Maya’s brown cascade, a treasure of her’s, never forlorn.

What could he do, but watch in pain

As his love was being plucked away,

Who was he, but a butterfly,

In the Eden of the Lord.