Don't be wary of the things you tell me,
Dear friend, dear acquaintance, dear stranger, Dear person who doesn't quite like me -- And yet said a word too many. Dear all, Your secrets are safe with me. I won't prod any further than you've let on. You confided in me and you confided for a reason. Maybe your bottle hit the brim; Maybe it was a cold winter evening. Maybe it was just one of those days-- When you were destined to talk about something you'll regret the next morning. Either way, I'll let them stay with the other kittens I have; Keep them safe in the bag I have under my bed. I hear them purr sometimes During dark nights of my own soul. When my left brain chides my right For all the choices I made, all the times I confided... Because, Someone has my kittens too. There are days when I doubt if they are safe, In another's home. Will they grow up someday, and visit out-of-the-blue? And will I see them, As big cats, fully grown and well out of their bag? -- Gaping at me, making me regret the day I trusted someone to keep them The kittens that I safe-keep In the soft, sturdy bag under my bed, Are like furry versions of Peter Pan. They won't grow up. Other than a few whispering purrs and listless scratches now and then, I rarely hear from them. The mouth of the bag is open For the kittens need space to breathe Sometimes they're noisy They'll never let me forget they're there There's a kitten with a white chest and a black mouth. She has all the foul words at her disposal And the purest heart to complement it. She saved a child from being bullied once And spent three months in juvenile detention For stabbing a man, Sending him halfway through hell's highway. There's another, a little brown thing With glittery eyes and a musical purr. He keeps to himself Even though he craves company. Shifted too many homes, been too shy. He has interesting hobbies. He once told me he looks best in his mother's dresses, With his paws pretty with ribbons And his mouth singing a happy song. Alone. In the safety of his room. His best friend is a brawny yellow kitten, He looks like he'll grow up to be a tiger one day...or so he said he's told often. But he has the softest purr you'll ever hear, And dreams of being a nurse someday. In the secret sack under my bed, There are anxious kittens, meek kittens, Ferocious kittens who were misunderstood often. Kittens who would like to be chefs and scientists and rock stars all at the same time As they dream under their tattered roofs. There are ever annoyed kittens, pilfering kittens, unconventional kittens, kittens smitten with puppy love; They're a mixed bag, Black or brown, ginger or white, They're all kittens who deserve a fair chance. They gape at me during rainy days, All together out of the open end of the sack As if to ask if they can stay. Sure--I say. If you behave. Stay away from my head, But most importantly, from my mouth, I say. You may take little strolls on my heart, But don't dilly-dally, Or else you'll linger and give me a hard time. You don't want to give your sister a hard time, little ones--I say. They listen well. There're days when I wonder if my own kittens are alright In their foster homes -- Are they restless? Are they growing? Someday I might see them. But I think I'll be okay, When I face their judgement. My fears against me. My demons versus my angels. I'll fight the good fight. And set my kittens free. Someday. Till then, another's kitten I keep. Safe with me.
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When you said you had found your calling, I was envious of you.
You, my friend, had found the thing you could return home to When life tried to drive you out on the empty streets of a wretched existence. I was still a thirsty nomad On a scorching desert-- Squinting my eyes to look out for the road that I missed. If not, Then for the one I was yet to find. I was a flawed human, I still am. I felt like a voodoo doll Being controlled by the enchantress universe. I was scared of losing the one thing I never had-- Independence. Independence emotionally. Independence mentally. The kind of self-esteem that only your heart's true calling can give you: that makes the difference between a rogue and a maverick. I wanted to have that, you know? You are on your own road. I have no idea how many miles you have traveled Or all the places you have been. So I ask you, dear friend, How was your ride? Was it bumpy, Or was it lonesome? What made you this way? How long did it take for you to arrive here? Tell me, please... So that I may derive some faith To go about just the same. If not, well then be on your way, I wish you luck borne of meticulousness. Pray for me, if you may, For I look forward to seeing you again Some twenty years hence, When I have found that I've arrived on my own two feet, Walking my own way. |
Gauri Priya Bora @the_straying_shadowPoems for the weary ArchivesCategories |