We live behind the glory

The earth awards to men

Yet the final prize goes into

The hands of a strong woman

We live in the shadows

Of the masculine kind

Though females have to offer

What no man can find

We are daughters and moms

And can still fight wars

Our united strength can

Smash through closed doors

We are girls and ladies

Each elegant and strong

Our voices may be mellow

But they will hear our song

The only comforting thought that provoked his will to live on was that an ending can be put on everything. The state he put himself in was unpleasant yet temporary, and he was aware that he ought to push forward. There was a way in which he could become his future self. However, first he had to survive with the demon dwelling inside him.

At that point, he could safely claim that nobody knew him any longer. He couldn't describe himself as the inquisitive boy with promising sparks in his eyes. Nor could he be regarded as the charismatic, well-featured adolescent he used to be. Both his family and friends would be astonished to discover that the man he is today had been their blue-eyed boy. Nobody would guess that the stray man perching in the corner of an unpainted room was once a person of moral character and remarkable integrity.

What often raced through his thoughts was the fact that he wasn't acquainted with himself anymore. Fairness and honesty were once the strongest ascpects of his nature. Yet traits of his that were most worth envying were also the ones that brought him to his knees.

And what remained after are coughs, bitterness following every breath and a blurry vision that couldn't distinguish prison bars from the foggy stripes he perceived.

The sheet is clear as a winter morning

Not a single word drips from the quill

Fleeting hours have completed a marathon

Yet the page remains pure and still

Below the skies and above the earth-

The path through which roams my head

Every word seems alien on paper

Each thought too peculiar to be said

Between my hand and the soft pages

A wall sits and sighs heavily

And both become impatitent

As I try to find my mind's key

Those days smelled as of

Blown birthday candles

Smoke of the first cigarette

Cherry trees we loitered under

The storm after a clap of thunder

I still hear noises from those times

Laughter from the magic smoke

The drunk talk hiccups

Wails of the police sirens

Late night confessions of our dreams

Yet I won't reach the past

I mustn't touch what's behind me

The assassination of my youth

Quilted a wound I shall never heal:

I cannot return what was once real

Dear me,

Listen to my instructions carefully. Now, before I write anything for real, I want you to imagine what your 2019 self has to say. Think thoroughly. Every question to be answered, every suspicion, remark, joke, anything that comes to your mind. When you are done, read the following:

My purpose here is to serve as a reminder. Your dreams have undoubtedly changed. Naturally, so have you. Can you remember what you assumed you were destined to be at this age? I bet you are on a completely different track right now. Can you recount all the things you shed a tear for at this age? I bet you are banging your head against the wall right now, laughing at the silliness of your youth. Can you recall the people who had your back when you were a teenager? I bet the scenery is not even close to what it was.

But my purpose is not my aim.

My aim here is to serve, not as a reminder, but as a lesson. I know that you are fierce when change comes into question, you embrace it magnanimously, with no trace of fear. I believe that you stick to your attitude that nothing kills faster than regret. And although you are much more experienced, I am certain that regret leads to nowhere but sorrow. I am well-aware that your eyes are sharp and not clouded, and your judgement clear and not overcast by falsehood. I acknowledge that you believe that everyone sees you in a different light, and therefore there cannot be a unique version of you.

But wherever you are, whatever you're doing, whoever you're with, listen. Earlier I asked you to recall your past. Now your task is to think of your present and tell me who you are and how do you differ from your past self? What have you learned? What separates the person you used to be from your current being?

From the moment of your birth till now one great fear was always behind your heels. Choice. Now, your answer should teach you how whatever you choose, something great always turns out in the very end.

With love,

You

If your heart skips a beat

Not a beat, but two

Your quest is not finished

He's not the one for you

If your stomach flips

Each time you two speak

Keep on looking

Never make a choice too weak

If your hands shudder,

Tremble like an earthquake

Continue your search

He's not yours to take

If you feel anguish each time

A lady checks him out

He is not the one

For in love there's no doubt

If you want to find the one

First you must cease to seek

The one will come in calm

Not awakening the freak

The revival of nature

Each time March knocks

Is anticipated with a tremble

After a click on a spring clock

Leaves are rich with color

Reminding of a new start

The delicate shape promising

A genuine gallery of art

Meadows are hatching

The thawing snow is at rest

Birth and rebirth welcoming

A young caterpillar to its nest

Seeds are sprinkled upon valleys

As freckles on a tender face

Trees are opening their hands

Hoping for a nature's embrace

A metamorphosis took place

And awoke half the globe

Earth's now green and divine

Showing off its new robe

Hush the echoes from within

Allow them to express:

An anchor is a prison sentence

For a truth repressed

A forged deceit is kept afloat

To drown it is hopeless

For truth pops out as a bubble

In keeping it whole, never lies success

Restrain your cries

For our time is built to rejoice

The sorrow of dishonesty is buried

With the birth of a sincere voice

There is no room for tricks

When you swear it on the river Styx

#poetry #poem

The bitter taste it leaves

Sprints across the tongue

Crawls down the spine

Grips and chokes the lungs;

Sets you free from air

Reminds you of your birth

When you were clueless, lost

An easy target to hurt

A crack in somebody's plans

With little room to fit in

A doll in somebody's playhouse

Oh, through what have you been!

At last you embrace:

Sorrow kills faster than neglect

For condemnation leads to nowhere

There is no room for regret;

Being lonely gives birth to no pain

Compared to being left alone

However the horror lies in the soltitude

In which you have to resist the storm

In a single whisper of her miracle

Dawn crawled through the trees

Her presence scared the winter mister

O, meet her majesty, Queen Persephone!

The woman's awakening prompted nature

To embrace a freshly crafted dress

Lively tailored by the queen of spring

Oozing the scent of jasmines and cypress

From her delicate hands sprouted a meadow

Tulips and lilies drizzled with bliss

Other fields awaitened such marvel

Teeming with desire for sunlight's kiss

The queen herself fondly treasured

The sinking pink sky at the outcome of a day

Yet soon the vibrant scenery would cease

As well as the fragrance of her play

Dismay hardly troubled her

For the sun, flowers, grass could perish

But the people reborn with this tide

Would await another spring to cherish