For Us, the Frivolous ones

Had always believed in them 

the small talks, the insincere smiles

sometimes a lot, a dime

always there

in the good times

Can't deny being one 

off, sincerely and simply

the value it brings

the formality, the distant connectedness

and the reminder that I see you, remember you, and accept you

And for the moments of rejections 

the fruits turn sour

off your peace for hours

the acrid tones, the rolling glances, the profiling

the small talks turn sharp like an ivy 

we, the small talkers, come in colors

simply there, social climbers, or survivors

the frivolous fruit, in small bites, holds the beauty

but too much is the poison self-made

Can't deny I believe in them

the small talks, the insincere smiles

sometimes a lot, a dime

but immunize and stay on guard 

of your peace 

even in the good times

Raising a Child

Raising a child is a roller-coaster ride, with all dimensions of your quotients challenged, crushed, and re-wired, if you are lucky.

Raising a child is an economically thankless and drenching task, yet one of the most gratifying and beautiful adventures of a parent's life.

Raising a child raises a society—and the aggregation is outright proportional and powerful—creating a foundation for strong or weak societies and economies alike!

Raising a child is no man's business!

Raising a child, if it is all on those few souls—with love in their hearts, social support systems in tow, laws of the land alleviating the challenges, and economies discounting their "personal" engagements...

Raising a child, if it is all on those two, one, or no one's head—with love turning into challenged, crushed, and resentfully re-wired minds, fading individualistic social support systems, and laws of the land failed by the attitudes and executions of individuals, societies, and economies!

Raising a child is a roller-coaster ride, with all dimensions of your quotients challenged, crushed, and re-wired, if you are lucky.

For I am and I ought not be

 I have lost too much

to find this light...

basked in non-privilege

to get this skin-deep.

Yet this resentment

for all I have not been

weighs me down.

I lost my self

in years of drowning;

as I wander, weak and adrift,

watching the imagined lives of higher selves.

I reach for lighthouses

I do not own,

losing more than I rescue—

the weight sinking me further,

the burden growing.

I wish to be lighter

with my own weight.

As I lie shattered at rock bottom,

light rayleighs through my fog.

The haze is a blessing;

it is time to gather my pieces

and let the not-me drift away.

And when I must judge,

decide, or act—

let me be strong and wise enough

to stay alight.

To respect what is truly mine,

letting nature flow through what is not,

in harmony with my cosmos—

for who I am, and I ought-not-be.