Just a cat

I’m just a kitten to you, aren’t I?
I’ve been so proud of my claws and fangs
I forgot that I’m still something small
That looks fluffy and adorable to you,
But you could grab the scruff of my neck,
Pick me up and throw me across the room
If I ever sank those tiny claws too much.
I forgot you were just indulging me
While I purred what I thought were roars,
And batted so viciously at things
That you had made sure in advance
Could never strike back at me.
I forgot that for all my ‘hunting’ skill
I come back to the bowl you fill for me,
And rub against your legs for attention.
I just forgot. I’ve grown, indeed,
From the little ball of fur you first saw
To something that does have fangs.
But I think my eyes only grew now
Because I just realized what I am.
A Bengal – but the cat, not the tiger.
You were the latter. I looked at you
And let the similarities fool me,
Believed my spots to be the real deal
And thought myself already a leopard.
But that’s ok. I’m still growing.
You never know what I’ll end up becoming.
Or maybe I’ll become wiser instead,
And learn to purr and look adorable
Before I launch straight for the eyes
Of those who I fool into approaching.
I only mustn’t forget that I’m just a cat.

Darkness

There is no such thing as darkness.
It’s just the absence of light,
It’s a lack of something you need,
But not something to make demands.
So when the darkness grows heavy,
Look at it and turn on your shine,
Tell it why it is nothing at all,
And why it has no power over you.
The moon and the sun do not fear night.
They decide, instead, when to allow it to be,
And the flame fears not the shadows,
But makes and unmakes them at will.
Darkness to light is not water to fire.
If anything, the only thing it can do,
Is make a contrast to make it seem brighter.
You are not the reflection in a piece of glass,
Waiting for something to hit it just so,
To break the gloom into little rainbows.
Instead, your soul burns hot and bright,
So remove the cover over your lantern,
Remove the things that keep the flame in check,
And light it all up from the inside.
And the things that skittered in the dark,
Catch them, burn them, and light their ashes
To pave the road for those who are yet to learn
That darkness is just the absence of light.

Three days quote – day 3

Aand here I am at the last day of the ‘three days, three quotes’ challenge that Soul Therapist so kindly nominated me to. Thank you again! And, without further ado, quote 3:

‘It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.’ (Epictetus)

(I can already feel my mother smirking over my choice. But, terrible as it may seem, our tastes do happen to match on this particular instance. Though, on second thought, this might not be the best thing to acknowledge in public, in writing, where it can be so easily held over my head… 🙂 )

The world doesn’t care what you want it to do.
I’ve never heard of disasters coming undone
Because people asked them nicely to go away.
I’ve never heard of bad luck being kind
And avoiding those already dealing with enough.
It’s not even a problem of sentience –
You may influence the behaviour of some people
But never all, and never will you be in control.
The only thing that is truly in your control
Is yourself.
It’s not about what happens. So many others
Experience the exact same things, and yet
Some of us come out on top of challenges,
While others fall completely to pieces.
The simpler you assume the equation of life,
The less sense it makes. If it’s just
A sum of experiences, I can give you the result
And you can jump directly to the end of it.
Such rigid predetermination leaves no place
For morals, religion, philosophy, even luck…
Nothing that could allow debate or chance.
We’d all be little robots, identical copies.
And we’re not.
In fact, we’re at the other end of the spectrum,
Uniqueness the one thing we all hold dear.
The same light filtering through a kaleidoscope
Looks nothing alike depending where you look.
And the best part is that we all already know
The simple motion of moving our gaze away.
So next time your world looks too black
Move your eyes to that beautiful rosy patch
And from there go a step further, grab paint
And do something to turn the blackness rosy too.
It’s all about how you react.

RULES OF THE CHALLENGE:

  1. Thank the person who nominated you
  2. Post a quote for three days
  3. Nominate three new bloggers each day

MY NOMINEES:

  1. Alien Ideology
  2. Auroraboros
  3. csincere

It is fine

When rain pours down dirty windows,
A constant patter of tears,
Snuggle into warm blankets
And repeat after me:
It will be fine.
When the winter snows flurry,
A God-made barrage of cold,
Put more wood on the fire
And repeat after me:
It will be fine.
When the darkness reigns blind,
Reaching long fingers in your soul,
Get up and turn on the light
And repeat after me:
It will be fine.

Repeat it until you believe,
Until you let yourself be strong enough
To actually understand the words.
Because it is fine.
You’re the only one who decides
What is fine and how to make it.
When rain pours, get up and dance in it.
When snow falls, go build a snowman from it.
When darkness abounds, lie down and see the stars.

Our inner compasses break all the time
And we can worry ourselves silly
Thinking how will we survive
When we can’t find our way back.
But it is fine.
Ditch the compass, put on your sturdy boots
And go on the straight unbeaten path,
Letting not a single fear hold you back.
Because, darling, it is only not fine
If you see the past, the problems,
The things that didn’t work out.
But it is fine,
It will always be fine,
If only we go forward instead.

Virtues of desperation

There are such virtuous people,
Far more than the rest of us,
Yet their light so easily hidden
Under a layer of perceived sin.
But who are we to judge when we don’t know
The touch and taste of their circumstances?
They may be showing the world
Something different than we think we see.

They may be showing the prudence of anxiety,
And be planning ahead for a future
They see so dark and stormy,
It might as well not exist at all.

They may be showing the justice of impulsivity,
For there’s a good and a bad way
In which justice should be blind,
And for them, all the things they can weigh
Are the judgments of seconds instead of years.

They may be showing the fortitude of apathy.
Let’s not forget there are people for whom
Merely lifting themselves up would mean
Travelling a far greater distance
Than others go to encircle a globe.

They may be showing the temperance of obsession,
When a single second of separation
Claws blood from the skin of their soul,
And limits cut into them like barbed wire,
Yet they still force steps through the thorns.

They may be showing the faith of depression,
For we all agree proof cancels the need for faith,
Yet we all trust in the existence of light
While being surrounded by glorious flames,
And judge them for struggling to see it
With their eyes closed against darkness.

They may be showing the hope of insecurity,
After being conditioned a lifetime
To the idea that they are undeserving,
And hope itself is overstepping their bounds.

They may be showing the charity of compulsion,
And the things they give freely are not,
Like for the rest of us, mere triffles,
But bloody chunks of their own beings.

They may be showing the world
Things that can only be understood
When you know both halves of the story,
Virtues of hardship and desperation.
People forget that qualities
Are not things to judge others on,
But things to mould themselves by,
For our stories are the only ones
Any of us have any right to.
So let’s judge ourselves for a change
And assume everyone else is virtuous.

Self-ful

You are not selfish.
It is not selfish to know what you think,
What you want and how to achieve it
And then act accordingly.
It is not selfish to choose yourself
Over what people want from you, of you,
Not selfish to respect yourself enough
To use the only life you’ll ever be given
To make peace for yourself.

You are not selfless.
It is not selfless to know what you think,
What you believe and how to stand by it
And then act accordingly.
It is not selfless to help others
If that is the standard you hold yourself to,
Not selfless to respect yourself enough
To use the only life you’ll ever be given
To turn your life meaningful.

You are self-ful.
You are your self and aware of it
Irrespective of the world around you.
You are the colours you paint yourself,
Choose the pigments that go into you
And the lines that are drawn out of you,
Not mindlessly soak whatever comes your way.
You are a calm eye looking inward,
Around which rages a chaotic storm.
You are an unchanged transition,
Self-determined, self-defined.
It’s an impossible concept for weaker people
So they try to label you in pitiful confusion,
Not comprehending how you can be
Both and neither, everything and nothing.
Not that you care.
You are too full of self
To need anyone else’s opinion.

Naked

She’s not a person you’d look at twice,
Were you to glimpse her going down the street.
It’s only her eyes that are dangerous,
And what happens when you strip her naked,
Letting the wild soul underneath breathe.
She’s fearless in only her skin,
The clothes a role too small for her to fit.
Her skin fits her not like a tailored suit,
Not something beautiful you’re afraid to spoil,
But like the things that grow with you
Until they become soft and comfortable,
That stretch to contain your curves
And toughen around your sharp edges.
She’s the kind of creature for whom
The clothes, the rules, the world,
Are an unwelcome constraint she can do without.
Anybody would, when they are so unnecessary.
She needs nothing other than herself –
She needs no weapons. She is a weapon,
Forged in the fire of a thousand suns.
She needs no cover. The universe is her cover,
Human eyes too feeble to perceive her.
She’s the kind of woman in whose arms you go
Looking for the meaning of God,
But remain for having found a goddess instead.
Don’t be fooled. Her hips are a beautiful lure,
The arms around you springing a hidden trap,
The lips honeyed only to hide the poison.
You can bleed to death cut on her sharp tongue,
And even worse on her sharper mind.
It’s a relief she’s this mythical creature
Only when her skin and soul are bare.
You’re safe if only you don’t look then
In the beautiful abyss of her hypnotic eyes.
So what are you waiting for? We both know
You can’t wait to see her naked soul.

Krav Maga

It’s not a sport, despite the physical activity,
And it’s not a joke, despite the constant laughter.
You can see the bruises that bloom on our skin
But the real lessons we learn are hidden beneath,
Are hidden before all the flash and glamour.
Doesn’t matter how fast you can disarm a gun –
You should first learn how to never have to.

No, the lessons we learn are not what people expect.
You come in for one thing and leave with a thousand others.

You learn how to breathe, keep calm, and go on,
You learn on that shouted mantra of ‘keep going’
Until you find the force in the exhaustion,
As you push it away and jump to your feet.

You learn to use your voice, step up, and try,
You learn in the middle of that crushing circle,
Until you find the courage in the anxiety,
As you realize you know something worth teaching others.

And most importantly, most stunningly,
You learn to find yourself, stand proud and tall.
You learn it every day, in every tiring class,
Until you feel the kind pat on the back under the slap
As you find yourself having a second family, a second home.

It’s probably not every Krav everywhere, though I wish it was –
I wish you all knew how it was to have around
Such brilliant instructors, such amazing people.
It’s a strange feeling, when you find the persons
That you would confidently trust with your life,
And it’s an undescribable joy when you discover
That you can easily trust them with your soul too.

That’s what my Krav Maga is like –
A combat lesson for life, not for war;
Self defence against both outer and inner demons.

 

If anybody who reads this is in London and would like to give Krav a try, please let me know. I’d love to show you my ‘family’ 🙂

Imagine

I saw a little boy building today,
Towers in spiralling, beautiful forms,
And rejoiced at the sneak-peek
Of tomorrow’s elegant skyline.
I saw a little girl painting today,
A world covered in flowers and sun,
And rejoiced at the assurance that
The towers will be dressed in gardens.
We know that it’s the silliest thing
To tell children that their worlds
Do not respect the rules of ours.
They will draw outside the lines,
And we let them do it in peace.
It’s a shame we forget, however,
To cut ourselves the same slack
And find forms that match our lines
Instead of cramming our colours
Within the stiff pre-existing shapes.
The world would be a better place
If we all closed our eyes to it,
And let ourselves imagine it anew.
If we imagined so hard we truly believed
That buildings are meant to be spirals
And curtains of flowers should adorn them.
We should believe in things that aren’t true
Or else how could they ever become?
Imagining other worlds is easy
The trick is to look at this world,
See it, feel it, understand it,
And imagine it as other, as better,
And all the ways to bring it there.

Lightning

Lightning wandering through skies,
Wind a-caring scared cries,
Dark’ning night is bleached to ash,
Wild forces are at clash.

Precious lace of mighty art,
Drawing continents by chart
In the auburn evening dusk,
Charging smell of grass and musk.

But bewatch the look of fury,
Answering not man nor jury.
Find the beauty in the beast,
Let the nature be your priest.

Prayer give to uncontrolled,
Turn the anger into gold,
Look for good in each of vile,
Be the one to rule awhile.