Somedays (how it is)-

Somedays (how it is)-

Some days, I feel like a foetus in the womb. With no care in the world. Peace abound, peace within.

Somedays, I feel like thunder is rumbling within me and and a fire is yearning to be let out.

Mama says- that is life. Somedays, it is; somedays it isn’t. 

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Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem is titled “to the young who want to die”. In all honesty, even though this poem was written by a truly spectacular writer, Gwendolyn Brooks, it’s not among my top favourites.

The reason I am sharing it today is because, it is a poem this generation needs to read and ponder upon. It talks about an issue, which although we shy away from, it is prevalent all around us. Thank you Miss Gwendolyn for speaking to the young.

On the note of gratitude, I just want to give a shotout to fellow blogger Michael Medlen(Flawed masterpieces), for reblogging a poem of mine yesterday. It was very decent of you to ask if you could share it, and then reblog it. I appreciate it.

TO THE YOUNG WHO WANT TO DIE By Gwendolyn Brooks

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait, will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.

You need not die today.
Stay here – through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here: See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

You are sufficient-

You are sufficient-

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He is the sun,
Reflecting light from afar,
Attracting,
Pulling one and all towards him.

He is the sun,
A ginormous creation,
Appealing,
Even from a distance.

He is the sun,
But you-
my dear,
are the sky.
A vast entity of infinite
Creations,
Atoms upon molecules;
A necessity,
In calm or adversity.

He is the sun,
Needed,
But only for a while.
He maybe the sun,
You are the sky.
Come rain,
Come sunshine,
Your need never falls short.

Don’t let his shine,
Diminish your vast,
You- are sufficient.

Of Life, of Love-

Of Life, of Love-

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You do not wait for opportunities,
you create them-
in the moments,
between,
the first string of light,
and when darkness-
envelopes the sky.

You do not wait for friendship,
To arrive,
At its time and pace,
And kick loneliness
To the curb,
With a sidekick.
You search it-
At the park,
The cafe,
Grandma’s birthday.

You do not wait for success,
To come knocking,
Down your door
Saying, I’m here now.
You hunt it down,
Axe and sword.
Heat and sweat.
Find it and claim-
It was always yours to Have.

But love… do you wait for love
To arrive, open arms,
Do you not?
Heck… what do I know about love.

T- To the one who curses time

T- To the one who curses time

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Take heed my friend,
And curse time not;
The hands of the clock,
Move the same for all.

It ticks and it tocks,
With each passing dawn,
Allotting 24 hours
Regardless, to all.

The time I waste,
The time you make,
The best of use-
Is all the same.

Take heed my friend,
and curse time not,
For time is faultless,
We humans are not.

Rejection-

Rejection-

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He told you, that verses were old school,
All the modern poets dwelt in lines;
So you bundled up all of your pages,
Dumping them in the dark of your house;
Only one- two lines just, he requested,
No one’s got time to go through a page,
And the heart that you poured into writing,
Crashed to nothing, within a sec.

You tried, didn’t you, to conform,
But the words wouldn’t make sense in two;
After efforts and hours and struggling,
You decided it wasn’t for you;
So you bundled up, all that you’d written,
Modern poetry was not worth the pain;
With his words echoing in the background,
You set fire and watched through the flames.

Who’s to say that you can’t be a poet,
Just because you refuse to conform,
To a particular style of writing,
While beauty resides in every form.
Seasons fade from autumn to winter,
But the truth of the fact still remains,
Some would prefer the winter in autumn,
Some would choose the other way;
Write two lines if you wish or long pages,
Write because- you have something to say.

Writer’s Quote: Mother to son

Writer’s Quote: Mother to son

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It’s Wednesday, which means, it’s time for writers quote Wednesday again. Today, I picked the quote above that speaks about “giving up”, which is a topic I believe is timely and cannot be said enough. The poem I chose to go with the quote is one by one  of my favourite poets, Langston Hughes. 

The poem is about a conversation between a mother and her son; it’s actually a one sided conversation, with the mother doing all the talking and the son, I envision, is taking it all in, in silence. A scene I am all  too familiar with, but I digress. Below is the poem, 

Mother To Son by Langston Hughes

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.

But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.

So, boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps.
‘Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

Don’t feel shy to share your thoughts on the poem and let me know if you are already familiar with the Poem. 

What Not to say to someone going through weight change

What Not to say to someone going through weight change

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I know I speak without filter sometimes, a perk of mine, and as I presume, many others as well. Needless to say, somethings shouldn’t require filter to not be said, common sense should suffice.

If you’ve ever gone through a weight change, either weight loss or weight gain, for whatever reason, then you’ve probably also been a victim of what I’m about to say.

It is so NOT COOL to greet anyone with the statement- you have lost/ gained weight. That is not a greeting; whatever happened to good morning, hi, or even hello. And when you do say it unintentionally (I’m giving the benefit of doubt here), please don’t utter those words as if you’re saying snort or something disgusting.

That being said, now to the main reason I am writing this post. To anyone who knows anyone who is going through a weight change, please (talking from experience here), one of the worst things you can say to them is- “you looked more beautiful before you lost/gained weight“. Because firstly, it is none of your business and secondly, it is none of your business.

You do not get to decide when a person does or does not look beautiful. You have no idea the reason behind the weight change or the effort put towards it. And also because by saying that, you’re endorsing the “ridiculousness” that beauty is measured in scales which is absurd in itself. 

I hope this doesn’t sound as one of those angst rant but rather something tangible. What are some of the worst things you’ve been told or heard, with regards to weight change? 

The above image is courtesy of Cranky fat feminist.

Writer’s Quote: Charles Lamb

Writer’s Quote: Charles Lamb

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The above quote is part of a poem I came across recently, thoughtless cruelty by Charles Lamb. The poem talks about a man who queries a boy called Robert, for killing a fly which had in no way harmed him. The man goes on to explain to Robert that a fly already has a short life, which is made even shorter by nature’s forces like wind and birds; and there goes Robert, further shortening it.

He explains that though a fly may be small in size, it doesn’t in anyway belittle it’s pain. The nerves are still there, the fibres are still there although the we can’t see them.

Below, is the full poem which I got from Poetry Foundation. I hope you enjoy it as much I do.

There, Robert, you have kill’d that fly,
And should you thousand ages try
The life you’ve taken to supply,
You could not do it.

You surely must have been devoid
Of thought and sense, to have destroy’d
A thing which no way you annoy’d —
You’ll one day rue it.

Twas but a fly perhaps you’ll say,
That’s born in April, dies in May;
That does but just learn to display
His wings one minute,

And in the next is vanish’d quite.
A bird devours it in his flight —
Or come a cold blast in the night,
There’s no breath in it.

The bird but seeks his proper food —
And Providence, whose power endu’d
That fly with life, when it thinks good,
May justly take it.

But you have no excuses for’t —
A life by Nature made so short,
Less reason is that you for sport
Should shorter make it.

A fly a little thing you rate —
But, Robert do not estimate
A creature’s pain by small or great;
The greatest being

Can have but fibres, nerves, and flesh,
And these the smallest ones possess,
Although their frame and structure less
Escape our seeing.


This post is in response to The Writer’s Quote Wednesday Challenge hosted by Jacqueline and Bernadette