Warrior's Worth.

 

Dear warrior,
while you weather storms
through wars waged
against your worth,
remember, you
have purpose,
and come from the
deep, cool Earth.

Although the sinister
& sly may have tried to
steal the innocence
of your smile, you remain;
stand your ground & stay,
you are so much more
than sorrow, although it
seems to be a stain.

And when malevolent
men manipulate through
tactics meant to intimidate
you cannot let them conjugate
you, for they could never capture
the courage that has made you.

For you were meant to soar,
do not let the rest clip
your wings to steal your flight.
Fly away, or fight, dear warrior–
they could never dim your light.

Resolve.

I was not made to falter;
weakness looks better on other men.
And every time I hit the ground is
just a chance to build
my fortress walls anew.

When my city crumbles,
it does not mean that it
will never thrive again.
I refuse to listen to the protests
of my insecurities
that urge I quit while I'm afraid.

They may be ferocious beasts,
but I will not back down that easily.
This time—I choose to live!
I will not come undone.

So what if I sometimes slip
and sprain my resolve,
.I know I'm not the only one.
The moment has finally arrived
where I stand and fight,
and face my demons head on.

I won't give up, I'll soldier on
until I've crossed the finish line.
I will stumble forward 

long after the race has been won.

My late arrival to the ball
is no reason to sulk backstage;
the show must go on.

I choose to live! I won't give in.
My stubborn heart will not stop 

for anyone.

I carry on, I am quite strong.
The day has come for me 

to make my mark.

I'll take what's mine, long overdue;
I'll fight the urge to run and hide.
I choose to live—

and it's a beautiful feeling

to know that I have grown.

Mamta.

Your strained voice
cries out to me, like the sage sitar.
It sings a sobering song
that transports me through sand.

Suddenly, a memory of your
loving care becomes so real.

I watch, awestruck,
as you took my tears
then weaved them into cloth.
Embroidered with golden silks
you pulled from the fabric
of your heart.

We never had much,
but your patience had me convinced
you were the palace in which we lived.

I exhale—only the warmth of love
and adoration escapes from my lungs;
in you, we have the stars.

Despite the struggle,
we only ever tasted the sweet saffron
you skillfully slipped into our souls.

Shalimar is in you;
my mother IS a Taj Mahal.
Her every breath's a nectar;
it is cardamom's caress.

I would reanimate a hundred thousand times
just to relive the splendour of her shadow;
it was the sunrise of my lifetime.

I would relive every sadness behind my eyes
just to breathe the soothing citrus-scented air
of her orange grove.

I have never come so close to saintliness,
and I can soundly say
my spirit has never been the same.