Expectations are the baggage we carry
Getting cumbersome, with each passing day
We always get the unexpected from it
Our back seems to be crumbling under the burden
Weaving a web of expectations, and getting entangled
Unable to ameliorate the obfuscated mind
Reciprocating, with the intention of fulfilling expectations
Our steps become heavily laden, unable to walk
Even though a life beckons without the paraphernalia
We have already walked away from it, with our expectations**




© Amitav (Radiance)

I am a flower
on the broken bridge
and you are the hand
that places me in your hair,
behind your ear,
and you let me whisper
all the awful reasons
I was broken off
from my stem and
from my garden,
and you let me cry
about why I am a bad, bad,
bad, bad, flower.
And that is when you tell me
that no fingers deserved
to pluck me down to nothing.
I have not lost my stem,
but found a new one.
You are my stem.
And I am your flower.
Some days, I will be
your stem, and you
will be my flower.
And we can learn
to grow ourselves
our own new stems.
Because it's not about
the baggage,
it's about who helps you
unpack.