The Peace I Choose.

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If you were to hear,

If you were to listen,

Only if you’d excuse yourself and give an ear;

To the birds chirping you’d hear them cry,

 about the sky,

They’ll tell you how they choke as they fly

how you ruined their home making yours.

How the clear blue sky is dusty black,

How the wars have ruined everybody.

 

We’ll build houses and villas,

We’ll go countries and cities,

To find an escape.

 

Escape from the monotony of life and the purposelessness of it all.

Will you bury the money with you when you’re gone?

Will your platinum card or vip treatment open the gates of heaven for you?

 

Let’s dream about a day,

A clear morning, the sun shines bright,

You wake up and pick up the morning newspaper.

You read about the beautiful girls that have been welcomed on earth,

and the ministers going to people and talking.

No guns, no fighting, no votes, no elections, no marketing.

Just talking.

Sweet words of love and a breeze of flowers swish past you,

 as you sit in the open yard of your house.

House, the one you can call home.

 

Your daughter walks to school, fearless.

They teach her to nurture and make life, a fruitful one.

Men in the society are just men, not monsters of molestation.

The grass is actually green, and not artificially planted.

 

 

In such a world,

Mother earth, rejoices and blesses.

There are no floods, no tsunamis.

Rain, not acidic.

Just rain, pure and fresh straight from heaven,

And It doesn’t drop down on streets,

But on the ground, on earth. ‘Bhoomi’

Where it belongs, where it nurtures and brings new life.

 

The day the cycle of life, comes back

The day we all are one.

The day there is no money, no currency, no exchanges

That day will be “peace”,

Quiet. Tranquillity. Stillness.

 

 

That very day mankind will learn humanity.

 

 

 

 

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

it is our light not our darkness that most frightens us

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other

people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

So far from Innocent – Neurotic Writer’s Diary – Page 4

A few seconds turn into minutes, hours; gradually into days and months. Often we wait, for someone, something in all those moments that make life. We wait.

Sleeping every night with little dreams, hopes and rules for the next day to come and sometimes not sleeping at all. Just a cup of coffee, a pen to write and memories to recall or decisions to make. Tasks of the material world divert our hearts and souls from things we would like to keep close… They come back. Often.

To think of an end of an era is scary.

Maybe because we’re scared we’ll never live the past again. Nights of despair , lost thoughts and tears and yes, nights of good writing!

The beginning of the night is scary, the end painful! Like a mother holding her child to her bosom and giving it in the hands of a stranger.

When did I grow old?

How and why did I agree to give up my innocence? When did the sparkle in our eyes go away? Since when have we become selfish manipulative beings?

The desperation to be makes us crazy. And in the craziness we forget.

To spend nights being lost, engrossed in ourselves.

In making decisions for time is man made and so is society.

Grow up as you. Passion often takes away innocence

But living in the past only gives you tears of remembrance.

 

Lego’s And Chocó’s – Motherhood with PCOD.

( This story is about a girl who was diagnosed with poly cystic ovarian disease (PCOD). She made her way through it and is now blessed with a son. 10% women fight this disease silently starting from teen age till 60. Spreading the message and acknowledging is the least men and woman can do, and those fighting it; ‘You can!’)

 

 

Unused fire places now replaced with electric heaters, pity, she thought. As she did, she stared at the perfectly carpeted floor with sprinkles of Chocó’s dropped by the 3-year-old that brightens her every morning with his dimples.

2 bedrooms were enough. Enough, for infinite love to reside, for growth to enhance, and to make a house, a home.

He coloured as a true artist would, he allotted one colour to every segment of his work. Action man’s and super heroes mostly.

“I’m hungry mama”; there he goes, his commandment for evening snacks, she smiled standing in the corner of her the hall. As she walked across the room, she wondered Chocó’s with cold milk or nutri-bar with Tropicana juice? He would point at either one.

Simplicity of food, thought, innocence and life.Lesser the choices, lesser the drama.

She watched him eat as he made way for a pile of Chocó’s in a large spoon into his still very tiny mouth.

“Chocó’s it is.”

The dim-lit room shines with his eyes and the monotony of the winter days fulfilled by his Lego’s. She looked at him, proud. Proud of his acts, his priceless beauty, his plum cheeks, mesmerizing eyes and subtle lips.

The fact, that he was growing every minute. That he was a part of her. It felt like just a day before that she had given birth to this little being, and today he was chewing on soggy Chocó’s.

The whole thing was magic to her; it fascinated her. She was, just happy.

She loved this, motherhood, womanhood. Life-hood? She wanted to take in everything life had to offer now that she was in the most beautiful city, Paris.

And with her, she wanted her little one to experience every bit of it too. To make him believe he was blessed, like she was. It’s wonderful isn’t it? Just having all of that you ever wanted?

She picked him up as he smiled through his father inherited dimples and bunny teeth. ‘Sleepy baby?’ she whispered to him seeing his eyes droop with sleep. He nodded.  ‘Just as I thought!’ There was something miraculous about being a mother, she knew everything!

She could smell the milk from his mouth, his baby powder, the slight hint of his father’s perfume. Being in the aura of that scent  was bliss for her.

She laid him in his blue coloured carriage and kissed him on his forehead.

7 p.m. she looked at the clock, she blushed.  6 years of marriage and yet, every day when he came back she would get butterflies in her stomach.

Perfect marriage?

She made her way downstairs; she could smell the fresh breeze as she wrapped her jacket tighter. ‘Lovely’.  She greeted the chef’s that made pizzas. Olives, tomatoes, chicken, the sauce, all put together for the perfect pizza.

As she walked, the baker she knew smiled at her through the large window of her shop. The baguette and croissants, in heart of Paris… What more could you want?

She walked in as the shop’s little bell tinkered.

“Bonjour mademoiselle”; the baker said with utmost joy.

“Bonjour madam”; She replied.

“Un, baguette?”(One baguette?)

“Oi” (sure/yes); said the baker handing her the crispiest baguette off the lot.

‘Mademoiselle’ (Used for an unmarried girl); I wonder why she calls me that even though she knows I’m a mother.

What she did not know was that her beautiful, fragile face hardly made her look old. She was simple, devoted, and innocent and filled with love. ‘Divine’.

‘5 months I’d guess.’ She said looking at a woman with a baby in her. Placing her hand on her own stomach, she was reminded of the struggles, the pain, and the lifelong medicines, all for one gift. The one gift she treasured, her only son.

She’d love to have another baby, a beautiful girl maybe, someone to play with her son, but she knew that would be a   dream.Having him was a miracle in its self.

She walked back, holding the paper covered baguette, she loved bread, but her diet restricted her. Sweets, soft drinks, rice all of it.

PCOD. The name had haunted her since she was 16.  Pills, embarrassment, comments, excess weight. Even her dating life had sucked.

She looked at the carriage; there he lay peaceful and asleep. She walked home happy and filled with gratitude for him and her son.

She lived each moment, surgeries and doctor’s appointment had taught her that. Her pregnancy was a complete risk, with PCOD, it’s hardly possible. She risked it and fought it because she wanted to give birth to someone as perfect as her husband.

As she made her way back, she saw her beloved. The one she loved, more than god. He stood by her day in and day out. Loved her unconditionally for her strengths and weaknesses.

Weakness.PCOD. The one she made her strength.

He smiled at her, ‘Ready with dinner?’ ‘Always’, she replied, looking at her husband, kissing ‘their’ son.

She loved the two men in her life;she loved PCOD for making her so strong.

P.S. This is a fictional story.Hope it becomes reality for the many fighting through.

 

His tomorrow, that never came

“Maa!”  ; He shouted as loud as he could, but his voice did not seem to reach….

His body was giving up slowly and his breath sucked in as he desperately tried to coo a voice. A sudden realization hit him as he figured the screams were now only in his head as memories and flashes from his past dragged along.

He wanted something but he couldn’t decide what, his wind pipe now plunged as though a rope had conquered it. He wanted to live, undoubtedly!

A rush of pain and happiness swept through his body as he pictured that sweet comforting face smiling at him, and holding him. “It would her hurt her to see me this way” he thought but he figured her tears might heal his wounds, seizing his pain!  As seconds passed by he realized, He wanted, needed and craved for his mother more than anything, even oxygen!

Only then as he was lying there, somewhere, waiting till his paralyzed body and suffocating breath gave up.  He finally closed his eyes, because he had now learnt that in this no moon night among the thorns and bushes only the dreams of his mother could pacify him.

Carried away by the remembrance of her scent he wished she could pat him to sleep just like she used too, this time, for an eternal one. For the next morning no matter how much she would try and wake him, he wouldn’t.  He still believed that she would probably kiss him hoping that it would wake him up.

Or maybe, just maybe he would wake up and realize it was a bad dream.

His innocence, his love, his faith lied so deep within. Only if he got the chance to show it!

No matter how much he wished, he finally concluded this was it, this was reality, and he had been stabbed till he couldn’t count the number of times. Just for a few bucks or maybe old rivalry but that hardly mattered now that his life was gone, faded in front of his eyes.

Last night when he had argued with his family, and ignored his girlfriend and insulted his friends he obviously dint know this was it.

Now he longed,Image

For his mother’s sweet song.

The thorns ripped him,

As he took his last breath

Begged for forgiveness for whatever sin..

but his tomorrow never came!