GLASS

I FEEL LIKE GLASS TODAY..
FEEBLE, UNABLE TO UPHOLD, MY STRENGTH AND SHOW IT TO THE WORLD..
I FEEL HELPLESS.. LIKE ANYONE CAN CRUSH ME AND CARE NONE ABOUT MY AGONY.
I FEEL LIKE GLASS TODAY...
BIGGER THAN THE BIGGEST.. CLEAN AND TRANSPARENT.. YET BRITTLE.
MAKE ME UNBREAKABLE..
BUT YOUR MEAN FIRE CAN DEVASTATE ME.
I FEEL, LIKE GLASS TODAY..
NOBODY TO HEAR ME,
I FEEL LIKE GLASS TODAY...
NOBODY TO HEAL ME.

THE VALUE OF YOUR TEARS.....

Is known only by you; because they are yours.
Instead, nobody knows or nobody can even estimate your sorrow or the deep agony of your heart, that weeps and screams for help.
Nobody can hear, see or feel the difficulty you have, in taking  breath because only you know how difficult it is to swallow all the pain that you've gone through.
The value of your tears , is known only by you!
The stench of the bitter experience follows you like your own odor.
Forgetting that day, the hour of that moment becomes your agenda and that itself keeps reminding you all that has effected you.
The value of your tears is known only by you, because they are yours.
It cannot be weighed , it cannot be measured.
No estimation is near, no accusation is right.
Because for you, tears aren't a waste.
They are in fact the cost of your heartbreak.

It, very randomly becomes easy to be frustrated because nobody knows what your tears actually mean to you.

Its not a mere letting of your emotions but holding back, you hope that somebody would wipe your tears off.... its your belief that at least someone knows the value of your tears.

My fault... or not?

In my 70 years of life, I have passed through almost every phase including the ones, one doesn't hope, expect or enjoy being a part of.

As I run my hand through my hair, as I rub my eyes, getting off my bed. I look at my image reflecting from the mirror across the room.And 'not' to my surprise, I see stretched and wrinkled skin, dull eyes and salt & peppery hair. A bent back... and a lost identity, expression and every emotion that had made my life what it was for so long.I see my misery and plight flash through my eyes, while I question myself,as to what do I own, other than my dead husband who left me to struggle alone in my early 30's, a son who disowned me, a daughter who shrugged me off her shoulders and grandchildren who merely care to recognise the grandma.

I, rather am dubious about my abilities from the past. Had I saved something for my own old age, I would neither have to wash my own clothes with one leg already in the grave and nor would I have to wear a smile at the old age home, just to pretend like my life is,and what I chose it to be. I wouldn't have to weep in loneliness and lie about it being a joint ache.

What is my fault? 

I don't even see myself in a position to question my kids about where had I gone wrong when did I stumble? Was my baggage too much for my children to handle it?

Or was my only fault, that I mothered my dead husband's children of an extra marital affair with my own milk. The endless, sleepless nights in worry for them, with the warmth of my body, and unconditional love...that they seem to have  forgotten..

based on  fiction

stranded and saved

Dry leaves fall of the tree,

"come look at us" they call me.

I walked toward them, gazing in awe,

believing that everything is beautiful, by the Almighty's law.

As the leave comes dancing in air across my face,

the death of the innocent shines in grace.

It sways and moves..like its free from bondage,

it reaches the floor like it was out of its cage!

I personified the leaf to be alive..

and believed that it had overcome all its life's strife.

The leaf had succumbed to heat, rain and the storm,

so I embraced it giving it love so warm!

I strode across the street with so much pride,

because I hope, when I am stranded... I do get a ride!