Inspired by the Fear of Being Average

Why be average when you can be a prodigy, an extraordinare, a virtuoso? This argument seems very sensible on face value and the temptation to buy it doesn’t just come from cognitive fallacies but also the ongoing work culture and socio- cultural corpus. Every cog of the economy makes money off of being ‘outstanding’ or having the ability to make you stand out- think of coaching institutions or consulting giants, it boils down to the same premise.

Afternoon Poets

For sleep comes when worry leaves;
It is too timid to confront the phantoms of the past.
Not us, though- we have laid there quietly,
Wrestling the noisy demons in our head
Till our limbs grew weary at the crack of dawn.

‘Tis the Szn: Navigating Anxiety and Depressing Feelings during the Holidays

If it seems like everybody came out of 2024 wearing tiaras and sashes while the only thing which keeps you from being empty handed is a string of disappointments, you are still heard and seen. If it feels as if the best part of the year is its coming to an end, your feelings are still valid.

She

There is an unsettling thunder in her gait,
An outright mockery in her smirk;
Her half-closed eyes speak of a defiance
That cannot be defeated.
She pinches pain in those
Tight-lipped smiles of hers,
And burns all hate in her retinas.

What weapons could ever destroy her?
She is the war herself.
Armed with a silent endurance,
Clutched close to her bosom.

Breathe

And when I feel stuck in the doldrums of life,
When nothing seems to move anymore,
When I slip down the dark abyss of nothingness,
And my eyes simply don’t wish to search for the light anymore,
I take a breath.
I breathe in the air
That is moist with the tears of poets,
Ringing with the pain of musicians,
Whispering in my ears, the beautiful stories of many unpublished writers,

Too Young

Clouds, delicate and feathery,
Dancing in the sky
To the beat of the winds;
Too wild to stop here,
Too young to know
Where to go next.

Live

Live for the flowers you haven’t seen in full bloom,
For the constellations you aren’t friends with,
For the dance of the Northern Lights on the skyline you haven’t been audience to.
Live for the cats you haven’t cuddled with,
For the dogs whose noses who are yet to boop,
For the birds you haven’t chortled along with.

Finding Myself

Scorched by the Sun,
Scratched by the thorns,
I walk through streets and woods alike
In a desperate pursuit.
Melting into a puddle of tears,
Freezing in the hold of a frigid numbness.
A lone wolf out for hunt,
Or perhaps just a helpless pup roaming in the city , barely alive.

You First❤

With the lively words you say to the world, and the secrets that lie dead in your bosom,
In success parties and emergency meetings,
Between the pop of champagne and the tenth cup of black coffee,
It is you first.

Stoic Beauty /Blogmas ’21

There is beauty in the stitches that bind the split ends of supple skin,
And converge the otherwise parallel roads of life and death.
In the marks of bravery cradled close to one’s chest, guarding the soundly beating heart behind it,a heart that’s long immune to quakes of terror.
In the deep indentation adorning a rather muscled bicep and in both fresh and fading bruises, reflecting the strength channeled towards the struggle.