Heroism

Everyday, we live and die for a beautiful dream
Battle the inner demons for what we stand for;
For the best that is possible in this small world
The best that exists on the verge of dreams.

The fiercest battles with the loudest war cries
Fought with the inner demons not with others;
For we are like the true warriors of yesteryears
Who raged against all injustice and bitterness.

Not that this base metal has turned into gold
But might need years of being in the run
The everyday battle with perfectionism
The tiniest details in its perfect little place.

Yet in a way you praise the might of the sun
Who finds courage to rise up after it's done. 

The End

Dear Reader
This blog was a hobby, a way of living and a platform for sharing the writing experience and also of expressing personal and collective angst. For a while, I want to take a break from this habitual outpour of personal details....:-)

Regards
Maria Joy

Drops of Youth

In tiny glass bottles, they sell drops of youth,
At exorbitant prices and dreams of perfection.
The words persuade, I decide to buy some
Just to check out for an overnight miracle.

Drops of youth, she claims can cure your scars.
Can melt away your acne-scars and pimples;
The girl mutters guessing my Achilles' heel
The need to have perfect pimple-free skin.

While I read her compact and eyeliner,
The perfect matte and the Absolute range
And think of the many things I have tried-
Diet, facewashes, scrubs, oils and whatnot.

Yet I'd love to keep an old belief of this land,
That they're brought on by an admirer's eyes.

Pic: www.sabrinatajudin.com

The here and the now

You and I were always like this, spending time together without demanding much from each other, what others think as necessary. I think our priority was togetherness first though we belonged to two different spaces altogether. But when I look back, I am amazed by the thoughts that we shared though we were so distant and by the kind of support that we were to each other.

Nowhere but here that's what I wrote when I thought whether you might be wondering where I was, being away from you. Now, in the present space, when such togetherness is no longer existent or real, I look back with wonder at the beautiful days that we had spent together, weaving dreams out of words.