Walked past a prophet the other day,
waylaid me across the way,
“how does it feel to always be the one who loves more”, he say.
Bewildered, I look at him in dismay,
the primal thought was that of defense okay?

But later it felt like a bite-of-the-reality-sandwich ,
with a saintly aura attached to it.
Convincingly, I ditch- ” to love unconditional is a trait of the pure,
comes with it’s own ache cruel,
but who delivers is the one that endures”

To which he explains,
to direct the flow inside first is what makes sense
Or we’ll live a life of pretense,
For, you have to have, to be able to give.
Or in the end, shall only be unfulfilled.

~Shradha

About who feel like home they,
promise an assurance that happen what may,
We’ll be okay.

Holding inside ’em- an uncanny serenity,
the valour that pushes you through a ride hitchy,
arguing against your insecurities with rationality,
driving you towards the journey of victory.

Sí, the noteworthiness of being self reliant cannot be brushed aside,
should be audacious enough to fight the world unkind,
but having people who call you their own, beside,
Ignite the fire within you, that helps climb the hike.
Have you stand back up, manlike.

With this, would just pray-
May you love who choose to believe in you,
with all that you may.

So much the heart longs to say
But the mind, like a guard
tugs the voices deep back inside the gate
for it fears, once again shall they go unheard and in vain
thought it’s foolish to be feeling what it does,
for there is no gain
Little does it understand,
it wasn’t milk and honey,
but a requisite to keep it sane.
Longing to open itself,
not to get shattered but for once, loved for same.
The heart mechanically grows heavier in pain.
Giving it hope, the mind tames-
“There shall come a day when I won’t stop you,
and you won’t complain,
Shall let the voices flow, without strain.
As soon as we find a mate intending to remain”