It'll flow when it flows,
Like a babbling brook,
Giggling through meadows,
Of creativity,
And mental banks,
Full of books,

Stimulation,
Free from frustration,
Exaltation,
Intoxication,

Full of life,
Full of love,

To nurture your being,
Cuddle your feelings,
Revive,
Your sense of meaning.

You are
still alive.
Breathe,
heal,
and you will thrive.
Just know that
this too shall pass
as you overcome
this impasse.

Sometimes you might feel blue,
Sometimes you might want to give up,
You might not have a clue for what to do,
Due to the tough situation as such.

But one thing you need to remember
Is to keep your head up high
Even if you can't keep yourself together,
get up again and don’t forget to try.

Optimism is hope,
Hope is inner strength,
Inner strength leads to perseverance,
With which you can reach extreme lengths.

Don’t forget that you might fall down,
In the perilous process of a beautiful success,
But stand back up and don’t look around,
As looking back will only cause distress.

You are a human,
Yes you make mistakes,
But these are the blunders that help you learn,
By making you realize that what it takes.

Challenges are faced by all,
As the path to success doesn’t come easy,
Yet you have the potential to overcome them,
Because you have the capability.

The path might be rough,
You'll think you wont make it through,
As the situation is tough,
But so are you.

So just live life to the fullest,
have the time of your life,
Enjoy every moment,
as no matter what,
At the end You will thrive.
                                                                           ~Parin Bindle XI-i

Sometimes I like
to dress up my tears in black
place them on the runway
and wait to be cheered for...

Maybe I'm a fashion designer by heart...

Not even the rain
could stop you from brightening
up this dreary day

6:37 PM
26/7/20

pin-pricked, the deep drip
spelled cacophony,
mired in chaos.
the human brand
of serially unkind
contradictions.
relatable

and distant.
far too nebulous
to satisfy your craving
after a long day of wanting.
those words silk-spilled
into some odd pile,
creation adjacent to intent,
and skewed from some cliff
hoping for release.

It's a birthright, not a dream:
the rising sun is mine to chase.
I grow upwards, each newborn cell rejoicing,
petals outstretched to scale the clouds
and I do not know where I'll go afterwards --
only that it'll sink into my touch
like an animal seeking affection
and I will say THANK GOD
I didn't shrink like a violet at the burn of judging eyes
when my soil-buried roots hadn't yet much to offer
or deem myself good as wilted and cut my growth off at the stem
(the call is not mine to make)
or declare the fruits of my labour would be poisonous
so time, effort, water are wasted acts of love;
how easy it is to give up
so as not to face the prospect of a hungry autumn
or feel my promises break in my clumsy grip.

We owe it to ourselves to wait and grow
for we may never reap what we don't sow.