imperfections

As a child I was always told,

“you are beautiful, my darling,

don’t ever believe otherwise”

When I started growing up

I was doubting my parents’ advice.

My eyes weren’t bright enough,

My nose was far too pointy

My lips were chapped,

My cheeks were very pudgy

and my hair, it was a tangled mess.

That’s not all, that was just my face.

My stomach wasn’t flat enough,

My hands were too short,

My legs were pale and rough,

My mind was a brainwashed wreck.

But now, now I have transformed

My soul remains the same, and yet

My flaws haven’t changed.

Haunted and tormented

thoughts have now become impotent.

The chains that held

my content thoughts together,

have now loosened, my raving

heart is fixing itself together

and now, I’m free.

Our minds are influenced,

but hearts are home

to our own feelings.

It’s time to believe in ourself

time to know, that we are

beautiful.

 

We’ve all had those days or the ones that are yet to come, when we weren’t good enough. This is a poem, dedicated to all the girls and guys, who have shared emotions like these. You’re you, and that’s enough. 

Perfection

nanaji

Winters at Home,

are not teeth chattering cold.

Just a chill in the air,

and the cool breeze’s caress.

The sun shines, every afternoon.

The leaves ruffle,

and the winds sing acapella.

The warmth on the terrace,

embraces his frame, welcoming him,

yet again.

He sits, on a borrowed, broken chair.

Eyes closed, and senses resting,

breathes in the comfort of the heat.

He shares his invaluable words,

stories of mischief, love and the world.

His thundering laugh echoes,

as he narrates,

small instances of his life,

and smiles as he reaches the end.

He reads the newspaper,

in hope of something new.

And sighs at the front page headlines,

that forever express reality’s misery.

Without another look, he skips onto

the editorial where, he

asks us to read along.

After an hour savoured, he stands.

His face contorting in pain, as his knees

crave for attention.

After a minute or two, strong again,

crumpled newspapers, orange peels, and

an indestructible tiny Samsung,

accompanies him downstairs, back home.

His mind already waiting and eager,

for the next afternoon to begin,

and to share a piece of his mind,

with his grandchildren.