Lost in Thoughts

Don’t let it go ‘Cause that dream is your show.  Go out there, Bask in the spotlights. If no stage, then Sing under the starlight Gleaming in the moonshine Your boundaries got no line. Drink in a thousand sights At dinner tables under chandelier lights Gleaming forks upon napkins, snow-white. If not, honey, then it’s alright. Set your own table Bold tablecloths trailing the dusk-lit ground  With truest of friends to dine around Wooden chairs and plastic cups The chatter, the music of divine As we sit and age like fine wine.  Be wild, Be free Be all that you want to be. Run to places off the map Chart new roads, one time, a lap As willing as the white winds Scared as you might be. You make your choices Shut out those miserable voices That tell you to sit and sip tea Step on your ship and sail the sea If not for treasure, Then for the breeze. Don’t let it go. ‘Cause your dream is your show.

            Today this little girl ran to me, her unruly hair still rebelling the worn blue ribbons. Her little fist was tightly closed behind her back. I caught a jagged piece of paper peeping out of it. I smiled and feigned surprise as she held out her sacred present to me. It was indeed a paper, ruled and smoky with graphite, torn hurriedly from her little notebook. She bobbed on her toes as I read those words. The words of a child, clinging hard to the printed blue lines, a few slipping here and there, then arduously heading back to near-perfection. It was a poem- About a cow and a dog. How an arrogant dog disturbs a depressed cow and ends up having the lesson of his life delivered via a nice, well-aimed kick. Not too impressive? For me though, it’s something I would recall as a ripe old granny, knitting uselessly by the fire-place, and smile.             She was a girl who had poverty riding on her shoulders, withou...

           ‘Feminism’ has almost become a fancy word today. Intending no offense, it has certainly lost its meaning in the midst of people who brew their own lofty ideas, basing it on incomplete conversations heard at café fronts or a television show picked up from somewhere in the middle of an errant episode or on their own personal experiences, which fairly speaking, covers something but certainly not everything. Feminism is but an idea that has been brewed over centuries and centuries of events, wars, bloodshed, tears and triumphs. Women across kingdoms have carved niches and details which has lead to what it is today. Feminism is just a reminder of what women can do- what they have done-why they have a voice so gentle yet so strong. I can justify this claim by citing one woman. She had me shackled in chains of curiosity. As I read, she grew in her own shadow, a faceless woman whom the world has conveniently cast into obscurity.     ...

Low self-esteem. The fatal flaw of this generation. The industries have sniffed this out and the traps are all set. All that remains is for an unsuspecting millennial to walk into one. I nearly walked into one too. Here is that sketch.   Usual Sunday morning at the hair salon, wrapped in an apron, staring vacantly at the painted walls, contemplating life (that’s what you do at these places right?). When I reached that point where you realize contemplation is actually making you feel worse, I let my eyes loiter around the pristine interior. A model stared at me from somewhere to my right with her haughty olive eyes and a mocking smile. Her hair, a flawless shiny stream of a curious woody brown lay sprawled over her shoulder. They had apparently captured her as she was stroking it. “ Mocha Balayage”, it said with a code underneath. Hmmm…how would that look on me? My brain photoshopped instantly & flashed half a dozen images of me with the mocha-something on. Both my ...