Fighter

Failure

A dish served in the darkness garnished with a smirk

The ring is set

Sweat glistens, a heart rapidly beating

Fists clenched, jaws tight

The opponent takes shape.

Eyes full of self-contempt

Muscles spasm to the rhythm of self-judgment

Movements fueled with self-doubt

A whisper, bated breaths

Each one an exchange of someone else’s opinion

The opponent stares back at the fighter

Without warning, lashes out

The fighter,

Oh how he falls

Silence

There is nothing more deafening

than the roar of silent denial

He tastes red in the tang of anger

The voices drown

Each one a label on his wounds

Through the blinding pain of self-loathing

The fighter lifts himself up

Recovery is slow

Realization a blur of broken connections

He enunciates 

“It’ll take more than that to keep me down”

Broken bones heal

Broken hearts mend

But broken spirits

Broken spirits do nothing but drift  

Failure

Clear as day now

The opponent who looks so much like himself

The opponent is nothing but a parasite to his own thoughts

The holder of his secrets and weaknesses

The gatekeeper of his insecurities

Life itself is hinged on one word

One choice

Fighter 

She sees the way only a mother can

A tiny beating heart yet unborn,

A body to nourish, a haven to shield

and He created a mother’s womb

Little limbs, unsteady first steps,

For the first time, she lets go of the tiny fists,

You flail, you fall, you turn around in dazed confusion

And she nods “ You’re doing great ! One step at a time now”

Picking yourself up after each stumble becomes your first lesson

Packed lunchbox in hand,

Crayons and pencils in a bag too big,

You cling tightly and scream don’t go

As she pries those little fingers off

She tells you about new friends and fun discoveries

But doesn’t tell you how those finger imprints seared her heart

Tear smudged face, bruised knuckles

“ They called me stupid”

Her heart breaks but she holds you close

And shows you that being brave has nothing to do with upraised fists and hurtful words

Gangly limbs right on the cusp of adulthood

A world crumbling at the edges of confusion

A broken heart and voices that cannot be drowned

In a blur of heartache you lash out an “ I loathe you “

And to closed doors and teenage mutiny she whispers “ I love you still “

Wise words spoken to mend that heart,

even if it means taking a piece of hers to fill the gaps

Bowties and gowns, lace-veiled dreams and hopes,

New rings to seal new vows,

She beams and holds the hand now larger than hers

Her heart screams “ Stay mine “ but she lets go

She sees the tiny beating heart, 

The unsteady steps,

Tear smudged face, bruised knuckles

Gangly limbs

Closed doors and broken hearts
Bowties and gown,
New rings to seal new vows,

She sees the way only a mother can

*****

This is to the mothers

Who vex and nag, and worry and love dearly

This is to the fathers who sometimes become mothers

Brave lone navigators of the sticky path of fussy toddlers and teenage tantrums

This is to the eyes, hands and hearts that care,

not by blood, but because you know that love does not discriminate

Happy Mother’s Day

Boston is but one of many

A little girl, 8 years old

“ Grandpa, why are there bad people in the world ? “

There is no why, only hope

and prayer

The blank of intolerance,

That smearing blur of hate,

blinding anger

Are all these melded into one big ball of confusion

Until your cause can only be justified through tears and blood ?

Does peace and quiet heighten the thunders in your head ?

Can your voice only be heard through explosions and broken lives ?

Does this calamity of senseless loss

Shed more sense in the roar of your mindless lashings ?

and does it heal your wound to cut another ?

Is your walk less lonely

When a crowd falls with you ?

Does it give you sight to blind another ?

That ticking bomb in your hand, does it match the race of your discontent ?

Does it make you feel powerful to hold

powerless lives at your temporary mercy ?

Can you exchange your pain

for the bleeding heart of a parent’s loss ?

Question after question after question

Hurt upon hurt

Contagious confusion

But only one thing rings clear

The answers are not in clenched fists

and bitter vengeance

because retribution does not decode the answer

A little girl, 8 years old

Broken dreams and shattered breaths

a future prematurely robbed and erased

There is no why, only hope

and prayer

*pic credits*

Here's my heart

Here’s my heart

A system of valves, opening, closing,

This synchronized clockwork of inhale and exhale,

Here,

Oxygen and carbon dioxide embrace life,

A brief encounter,

An imperceptible give and take

Only to forever part and go separate ways

Wander down the halls of my heart

And You’ll find weaved into a tapestry of veins,

Resentment, anger, and impatience conferring in the passageway

"Someone said something today"

An angry word, and vengeance rears it’s ugly head

A quickening of beats, a rush of blood to the brain,

Doubt drowns fading faith and

Fear cowers shamefully in a darkened corner

But a heart led by pride often trips on itself,

Only to be left broken and bleeding

And when it stubbornly snuggles into blankets of its own wounds

Contentment teaches it how to never heal

This is a heart that is weak,

Imperfect despite Your perfect orchestration of opening and closing valves.

Here’s my heart,

Gently remove my tightly held grip on the reins

And teach it to trust

With faith like young David’s

One that giants, doubts and fears can never sway

Teach it to beat for you

Move each breath to love like Jesus

Eyes that see the poor and suffering

And as this heart acknowledges that pain is universal

Soften it as it feels their pain too.

Lord, breathe into it

So each impatient heartbeat

Feeds instead the river of Your peace

Between the knowledge that there are wars worth fighting

And squabbles that need only the hand of Time to cure,

Grant this heart Solomon’s wisdom to tell the difference

And when You finally knock on its door

Grant my heart the wisdom

To answer

Above all else, guard your heart ; 

For everything you do flows from it 

- Proverbs 4 : 23

Hope restarts

This is the story of a girl who loved and lost

A girl who started out with a feeble heartbeat

and right before they thought all was lost

A pulsing ultrasound and in three insistent beats :

“I’m. Still. Here”

A girl who was taught at the lap of her earliest teachers

That it takes strength to say “I’m sorry”

Learnt through life that it takes humility to say “Please”

and that gratitude, extends further than the last “Thank You”.

A girl who decided not to judge through coloured lenses,

Not realizing that the world

was already too busy painting her shades

that didn’t quite match the colour of her soul

And with eyes wide shut, and heart laid open,

Friendship, was the wine with the best bouquet,

the most delicate of flowers and

the sweetest of fruits

Betrayal may have opened those shut eyes;

shut the open heart

filled the days with the roaring thunder of hurt and confusion

But this is the girl with the feeble heartbeat,

In three insistent beats :

“ Hope. Restarts"

This is the story of a girl who loved and lost

But loved again

*pic credits*