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loneryeti

A loner. Close the door when you leave.

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Poetry

I’m Proud of Us! 

Life hasn’t been a bed of roses, 

Happiness hasn’t always knocked on our doors,

Fate hasn’t always showed mercy on us, 

Yet we still manage to laugh out loud, 

Yes, I’m proud of us! 
We’ve witnessed our dreams shatter, 

We’ve seen our plans fail miserably, and how, 

We’ve had our trust broken, 

Yet we still manage to not complain,

Yes, I’m proud of us! 
We’ve faced shattering rejections, 

We’ve suffered unrequited love,

We’ve lost the ones we cared for the most, 

Yet we manage to love nonetheless,

Yes, I’m proud of us! 
We’ve battled immense loss, 

We’ve survived horrible tragedies, 

We’ve carried immeasurable grief, 

Yet we managed to make it through, 

Yes, I’m proud of us! 
We’ve lived in different time zones, 

We’ve fought like there’s not tomorrow, 

We’ve had innumerable fallouts,

Yet we still managed to care, 

Yes, I’m proud of us!
We’ve braved the storms, 

We’ve surfed the tides, 

We’ve weathered the rains,

But we still managed to shine bright. 

That’s why, I’m proud of us! 

Dressed in formals beneath dim light,

I sit there with my fallen pride.

A master’s degree that seemed robust,

Sits in my closet and gathers dust.

Eyes once occupied by starry dreams,

Are now restless with bosses’ screams.

Who wanted a job of nine to five,

Now slogs all day at his job to survive.

What happened to those brilliant presentations,

That filled my heart with proud elation?

And the projects, case studies and assignments,

Were they only a formality of course contents?

I left campus, with hopes so high,

The reality makes me let out a dismal sigh.

Yet I refuse to let go off my pride,

Because my hopes have not yet died.

I still believe in a future that’s bright,

Where I’ll witness the rise of my fallen pride!

POP GOES THE BUBBLE

Nestled in two trembling hands, a face full of tears,

What an entrance to the stage of life, oblivious of life’s fears,

A wave of smiles, a tide of sighs, a life devoid of trouble,

Encapsulated at the early age, in the protective bubble.

 

Wrapped in clean towels, dressed in sterile clothes,

Life begins within the bubble, safe from all the loathes,

The sweaters, the mufflers, and the scarves,

Do they defend from the problems that life carves?

 

From roadside food to playing in the summer heat,

They’re a sin, no matter how much we feel upbeat,

No brawl with others, no hearing of cuss words,

Learning about the explicit things, via the bees and birds.

 

As we move on day by day, within this protective bubble,

It wears, it thins, it rubs, it spins, and finally ends up as rubble.

And as soon as this bubble bursts, we’re exposed to the fears,

The lies, the hate, the sorrow, the fate, all hidden since all years.

 

The bubble is gone, the troubles knock the door, we stare at it in disbelief.

Clueless how to face those fears, and how to bring relief,

Wouldn’t it be better if the bubble didn’t exist, we faced the world head on?

We could have faced come what may, whatever was thrown upon.

 

Pop went the bubble, the reality struck hard,

And we were left aghast,

We fall quite hard, then pull ourselves up, we flick away the dust,

We move ahead sans the bubble, with all our mighty thrust.

This isn’t about moist napkins,

Nor is it about crumpled tissues.

This surely isn’t about empty whiskey bottles,

Neither is it about big ice cream tubs.

No, there was no animated fight,

Neither was there the feeling of revenge.

Yet a lot was there to end it all,

Some issues too big, others too small.

But this is not a remembrance of all that,

No, this is not a sob story.

Instead this is a thanks for everything good,

From care to love; from dates to food,

For the precious gifts, for your comforting hugs,

The melting smiles, and the warm palm rubs.

Your trust in me, the belief in us,

For your insecurities, and also your guts,

This is a gratitude for the time well spent,

For everything you gave me, for what it meant.

Time tore us apart, it isn’t in our hands,

But our story will be told, by footsteps on wet sand. 

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