Passion…unbridled

I’ve been told repeatedly

By well-wishers who care for me

That I can be anyone I want to be

Then why am I in such a quandary?

There is a question existential

To find things in my life that are essential

Eliminate things that are inconsequential

And thus live up to my full potential

*

Many different factors are in competition

For my rather limited span of attention

I am fickle, I cannot prioritize

I don’t know where my greatest passion lies..

*

What do I truly want, where do I want to go

I have not figured it out, and so

I live life in a perpetual state of confusion

I wonder if self-actualization is just an illusion..

*

So I live (? or exist) from day to day

Awaiting clarity to appear my way

Maybe the universe has a plan for me

That I am not yet able to see…

I’ve heard this often, but I’m not sure if this is true

You would regret the chances not taken by you

But why is it always about taking a chance on something new?

When you don’t take a chance, you make a conscious choice too

To not disturb the existing order, because you don’t know

If you would eventually make progress in going with the flow

Taking a leap of faith into the unknown adventurous appears

While staying where you are carries a suggestion of fear

Sometimes breaking out of your comfort zone can be

The ticket to a life more exciting, an opportunity

To realize your full potential, but then again

Sometimes it takes patience for you to obtain

Success, accolades, recognition that you deserve

Sticking through thick and thin too requires a nerve..

*

In a convoluted way this is what I am trying to say

If you absolutely must, jump ship today

But if you have any doubt, then re-evaluate

Maybe better things are in store for you if you wait..

The comforts of modern life have spoiled me

I live and thrive on the premise of predictability

With all the technology available these days

I can manage time effectively in different ways

Work commitments, travel, deadlines quite narrow

I expect to be able to fulfill, I can be on the go

Continuously, because I am connected to everyone everywhere

As long as everything works as intended, I don’t have to care..

*

In recent years, circumstances seem to have changed

A stable world order has been jarringly challenged

By the pandemic, war, natural disasters and more

The smooth operations our lives depended on before

Have run into rough waters, thus an element of uncertainty

Has invaded lives built on processes working predictably

*

I am a creature of habit, and while I pride

Myself on efficiency, I dare not hide

The fact that I am poor at adaptability

To unforeseen circumstances; instability

Makes me anxious, but I have to learn

To adapt quickly, there is nowhere to turn

When calamities strike out of the blue-

Improvising on the spot is all you can do

*

I cannot help but think that this has been

The reality that mankind has mostly seen

I am lucky to have lived most of my life so far

During a stable era devoid of hunger and war

It is now time to get used to discomfort

Learning to adapt quickly cannot hurt..

When you write…

*

Shape your misshapen thoughts

Into words, phrases, sentences

Bury your negative emotions

In the tapestry of your writing…

*

Let your melancholic tears fall

String them into a soulful verse

Watch your sorrows evaporate

In the warmth of your poetry

*

Let your anger explode (on paper)

With powerful imagery, write an impactful monologue

Feel that fire slowly turning cold

As its energy dissipates into your words

*

Put your thoughts and emotions on paper and you would find

A release, a catharsis for your troubled mind

I need to improve, work harder too

This is what I feel constantly, I do

If I am average, I need to be good

If good, strive towards excellence I should

If I excel at something (I rarely feel this way)

Then I should try to attain the pinnacle one day…

You can do better, is the mantra deeply ingrained

You are not good enough as you are, is the constant refrain

That I hear- it undermines my confidence

And leads to feelings of inadequacy intense

*

I do not know how to eradicate

The feeling of being inadequate

Sometimes harder I am motivated to try

At other times I could care less, I wouldn’t lie

But no matter what I do or achieve

That I am enough, I simply cannot believe

I don’t get the external validation I seek

And my internal validation machinery is weak..

*

That I need to do better, this deep-seated belief

I need to erase, comparison with myself is the thief

Of satisfaction in life, if I could accept myself as I am today

Maybe the constant feeling of inadequacy would go away…

There are so many things that embarrass you

You would never tell a soul, let those secrets die with you

Sometimes the feeling causes discomfort so intense

That you cannot even put it in words that make sense

You have a vague perception of your shame

But you cannot even privately give it a name..

You learn to suppress it, but it does not disappear ever

In some recess of your mind it continues to fester..

*

Then one day serendipitously you read

Words that describe exactly what you need

To express the source of your embarrassment

It ends up being cathartic to some extent

Your unnamed discomfort has been validated

By the writer, who has unknowingly your feelings articulated..

How many things and how many people do I need

In my life so that I can be considered complete?

As I transition into an adult independent

You say looking for my better half should be my intent

Then comes motherhood which is supposed to complete

Me as a woman, what can the joy of having a child beat

After all, but then if taking care of children is all I do

You expect me to find a career that fulfills me too..

If I fall short of any of these expectations

If I fail to live up to societal obligations

Am I then a woman incomplete or inadequate?

This is precisely the insinuation that makes me upset…

*

I’m not trying to rebel, and these expectations alone

Are each perfectly reasonable on their own

The idea that irks me is that of being incomplete

Until these arbitrary milestones I have claimed as a feat

So what if I do not find a partner

Or do not want to or cannot be a mother

Or cannot establish a career that fulfills me

Does that mean I do not get to be

A whole person, as if I am part of a jigsaw puzzle after all

Looking for other pieces to fit my edges, so I can call

Myself perfect, complete, checking all boxes indeed

I am a whole person, why do appendages I need?

*

I am a whole person, and I need around me

People who feel complete themselves, and can see

Me as the person I am, with my strength and weakness

Grow themselves and allow me to grow in the process..

(Thinking of women in Iran)

I shake my head sorrowfully

How is it that in the 21st-century

Freedom of expression can be suppressed so brutally

We don’t live in tribes, we are a society civilized

We should be more tolerant, but I’ve realized

The world is dangerously polarized

Mercilessly are crushed voices of dissent

Power is displayed in a manner violent

To revert to medieval fiefdoms seems the intent

*

At the center of it lies the desire to control

The lives of women, to crush their souls

Oppression exacts on women the greatest toll…

(Image source-newsnetworktv.com)

As I consume news stories about people worldwide in different situations, I try to imagine how they feel and write poems about them. The other day I was wondering if it was actually appropriate to do so, since these are people I have never met in my life, and I don’t actually know how they feel besides how things are portrayed in the media. I have written about refugees, Afghan women, Olympic athletes and tried to capture the emotions that they might have, but this is purely conjectural on my part. This poem highlights my dilemma..

How do I write authentically?

When I write, does everything have to be about me?

What if I try to tell a story that is not mine?

Try to inhabit someone else’s mind

In words, try to bring into existence

Another human being’s very different experience?

*

I read, hear, watch stories of people in crises everywhere

I share nothing in common with them, I’m aware

I’ve never met them, first-hand I do not know

How they really feel, what the media shows

Is all I can base my understanding on

Sometimes stories are shared by those who have undergone

Hardships in life, that I consume and am moved by

But telling their stories in my words, is it even appropriate to try?

*

I can include only my experiences in my writing content

But my predictable life is limited in the extent

To which it can generate ideas compelling

There is not as much in my life worth telling

As in that of people in different circumstances worldwide

But in writing about them, am I accurately representing their side?

*

I have tried to imagine and write about

Refugees, war-victims, victims of violent crimes, and no doubt

I cannot fathom how they feel in their lives

I try to honor their indomitable spirit to survive

Despite the hardships that they continually face

Therefore, even though I may be quite out of my place

To write about people I have never met

I write about them, as a gesture of my respect

I have a chronic illness

It makes me ruminate, obsess

Over its existence constantly

The shadow I don’t want to see

Like a companion cantankerous

Interrupting, creating a fuss

Admonishing me to take care of it

Reminding me of things that can’t fit

My life and my chronic illness

Warning me to manage stress

Given to me, quite ironically

By the illness that rules over me..

*

Sometimes I think the illness could be

A suffix added to my name, I cannot see

Myself without the addition

Of my unfortunate condition

For many years I have tried in every way

To tame this beast, yet to this day

The beast of my illness rules over me

I just tolerate its unpredictability

*

The world tends to tie productivity

To physical fitness, thus someone like me

Could be considered a worker subpar

That is what would hurt me the most, by far

So I try to give my 110 percent

Go above and beyond to prevent

Any doubts raised on my performance

Illness or not, I still strive towards excellence

A Japanese philosophy that originated in the 15th century as a reaction to the prevailing aesthetic of luxury, wabi-sabi is the art of finding beauty in imperfection and the ephemeral nature of life.

Rearrange, reorganize, replace, repeat

Until everything around you looks perfect and neat

The advice applies to your personal grooming, home and workplace

No specks of dirt, each task complete, no wrinkle in place

Cleanliness and organization are synonymous

With a person successful and industrious

To strive to improve your environment, leave it spotless

Is the mark of someone making progress..

Work towards perfection constantly, in every way

To feel accomplished at the end of the day

*

That summed up a lifetime of advice given to me

I did strive towards this vision of perfection, naturally

Until I started to feel vague stirrings of discontent

Things looked mostly perfect as was my intent

The world conspired to bring me to a moment of revelation

I found the concept of “wabi-sabi”, to my fascination

This was precisely the concept I needed to find

Even though it contradicted everything in my mind..

*

Imperfect, transient, earthy and rooted in authenticity

To embrace the world, flawed in its beauty

To slow down, observe, let things be as they exist

The impulse to change or improve them, try to resist

I am warming up to this concept gradually

Leaving things undisturbed rather than be in a frenzy

To make them perfect, unblemished or too clean

To see some things in the world as they were meant to be seen

Oh yes I will admit I’ve always been too much

Throughout my life I’ve been told by everyone as such

Too loud, too opinionated, flamboyant as well

I make people uncomfortable, I can tell

Almost always to myself attention I draw

Not in a complimentary way, but perceived as a flaw

I must tone it down, often I’ve been told

I come across as too aggressive and bold

A nurturing vibe women are expected to project

If she is too assertive, most people object..

I cannot infuse my tone with artificial sweetness

That is just not me, my true nature I cannot suppress

I end up being criticized and corrected equally

By both women and men, based on norms of society…

*

I am not a rebel, and long have I tried

To “tone myself down” so others would be satisfied

But then I have to be conscious of my behavior constantly

I cannot say or do anything spontaneously

Confining my exuberance inside closed walls

Is constricting; does not let me thrive at all

*

I remind myself I am an adult and own

My strengths and weaknesses, they are mine alone

As long as my behavior does not hurt anyone

How unladylike I am should affect none

So I’ll throw away that layer covering me

That has muted the ebullience I want everyone to see

I’ll talk and laugh loudly, break into dance, and sing

And ignore the disapproving looks this would bring