Dear soul, why do you seek yourself in others,
Those imperfect perfections can't really pull your pieces.
They may try but they aren't you.
You are those last rays of sun smiling on broken window panes.
They talk of French windows, of castles and towers
Which you admire but wouldn't like to own.
You are that last ounce of pain that you carefully hide under your smile,
They talk of tattoos, they brag of fame,
Ah! bogus and baseless, your mind reports.
You pour affections day and out in their cup
And they drain it out without thinking much.
This should stop, I tell you, you need to love yourself,
For, you can't call them by your name, can you?
They may act, they may try but they can never be you
They will put on a fake reflection obscuring your vision
But, dear soul don't get deceived.
You deserve to be free, you deserve to be you and no one else!
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
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