My little plant
I tend to you every day
I give you some sun
I pour in some water
But I do not ask for fruit
Fruit was never the purpose
The very process of you living
greening glimmering growing
In my soul
Is happiness
Pure unadulterated happiness.

Since childhood,
I have been fascinated by one story,
The story of The Ugly Duckling.

Whether a duckling or a swan,
She always stood apart.
Alone in body and thoughts,
She never was the crowd.

But chancing upon her reflection,
She discovered a thing or two,
She wasn't to waddle along,
Their purpose was not her purpose.

She knew she had to be different.
She had to feel out of place.

It took some time,
And great amount of pain,
To realize,
It was the wind that caressed her wings.
It was the skies that enchanted her.

She had to rise beyond inhibitions,
To a place far far away.

Will you wait for the day to end
so you could see me?
Will I be the one to bring you a smile
On a long long day?
Will I be the rock?
Will I be the sun?
Will you find comfort in me,
When the world hurts you?
Will you seek my words,
When nothing  makes sense?
Will you cherish our moments?
Will you go over my words,
Again and again?
Will you be the constant,
In my ever-changing life?

While soaking the February sun in my cold bones, I think of possibilities.

I hear the sparrows chirp on my house's rooftop, but I also worry about the ominous fumes rising from a factory nearby.

This is also an analogy for my life.

I question if my imagination runs a bit too wild or if I trust my ideas too less?

I am unable to feel completely happy, but I cannot sink into sadness just yet.

I wonder what to choose, hope or despair?  

I am hanging somewhere in the middle,
in the web of possibilities, both good and bad.
‎
I am searching for answers to questions that nobody can answer for me.

As I pass by the staircase,
I see my sister's broken doll,
limbs apart, tangled hair,
and the ***** frock.

I feel something in her
that I could identify with,
I start to feel like a broken doll,
shattered in countless pieces,
in a world where care does not exist,
and empathy is far far away,
people run after what they want,
and walk all over others.

As night approaches,
I lie supine on my bed,
eyes on the ceiling,
tears trickle down from the sides,
amidst my broken dreams,
I think of what I ask for,
and what I get,
I am a broken doll.

Winters remind me of all the happy days,
Of moments that wont ever be back,
People that I’ll never come across,
Places that’ll never be the same,
And feelings I won’t feel anymore.

My heart sinks with the nostalgia,
That surrounds my heart and mind,
As I sit mesmerized among my books.

I am learning
Slowly
To see myself
from your eyes

How easy it is to forget the perfect days and drown into the quicksand of hopeless thoughts?

It feels as if the weight of sadness is much heavier to lug and happiness is so light and feathery that you forget that it ever existed.

It's okay to not look your best,
because you are not just your looks!

You are much larger.

Why become small by limiting yourself with just how you look?

You may have saved a life
Without knowing that you may have saved a life.

You may have said a kind word to someone who was dying to hear one or maybe planning to die.

You may have saved a soul from drowning in the quicksand of depression.

By feeling someone's pain without his having the courage to utter it.

By being there for someone who needed someone to keep breathing.

You may have unloaded the burdens of a heavy soul who was about to succumb to the dreariness of this world.

You may not know the gravity of your smallest deeds.

But you may have saved a life without knowing that you may have saved a life.

I have forgotten all Finance,
except for a maxim
that refused to leave me:

"Higher the risk, higher the return."

It could teach me about the stock market in which I would never invest, but more importantly, it teaches me about life.

About taking long brave strides to where I want to go, instead of tip-toeing my way to nowhere.