Passion…unbridled

No one had predicted such an occurrence

A catastrophe leading to worldwide sufferance

But there are lessons hidden in each calamity

The pandemic has delivered a blow to human vanity

Our survival instinct that lay dormant

Has resurfaced to deal with the torment..

New revelations, new lessons have appeared

While we navigate the waters with hope and fear

**

The predictability around which we had our lives built

Received towards uncertainty a major tilt

New questions to which the internet does not answers possess

Emerge each day, it is no longer possible to obsess

Over trying to control each aspect of our lives

In the midst of ambiguity we have learnt to thrive..

We’ve had a glimpse of the harrowing life

Led by unfortunate victims of war and strife

**

Let me now say how I have been affected as a person-

Thrown in the throes of social isolation

I have discovered the rejuvenating power of silence

I have discovered within me a well of resilience..

“Like yin and yang, truth and lies are inseparable, each containing a seed of the other. No words are ever entirely true or entirely untrue.”– Chloe Thurlow

Looks like the perfect material has been invented

Called truth- In myriad forms it can be presented

Bendable, stretchable, moldable by humankind

Capable of playing tricks with your mind

Truth has innumerable forms of disguise

It can flawlessly dress up any number of lies

It can expand and contract to fill any space

Inveigle its way into any place

Perception is reality, some argue

Therefore what you perceive must be true

The veracity of anything can be questioned

Truth being absolute is an idea defunct..

Quote source:https://www.spiritbutton.com/truth-and-lies-quotes/#ixzz6aQhZyW2

Sometimes life happens to be just that way

What really bothers her, she simply cannot say

The pain she swallows like a pill, there is no choice

Resentment, discontentment are all internalized, they don’t get a voice

The moving parts of her marriage are hidden from prying eyes

The truth bleeds inside, covered by an armor of lies

The gaslighting, the unrelenting erosion of self-respect

Are too complicated to explain, to be expressed

The surface presents a picture of perfection

She is lucky to have a supportive husband- is the perception

He lets her build her career, participates enthusiastically

In caring for the children, something you don’t often see…

*

Sometimes she wonders if it is all in her head

She should not be unhappy, but count her blessings instead

Yet she screams silently at each veiled attack

At her education, her competence, she wants to lash back

When people insinuate her husband has supported her career

“I have built it on my own,” she wants to reply with a sneer

Every day she has to gather the courage to rise

Above the barbs of insult, sometimes their ingenuity takes her by surprise

The work-home balance that she tries to achieve

Garners no praise, in fact she is made to believe

That her homemaking and culinary skills are deficient

Who cares if at multitasking she is proficient?

*

What are her desires, or more appropriately “were”

These days she herself does not remember

She had thought she’d be the poster child for women’s liberation

How far from reality was her youthful estimation!

While one might argue that she could break free

She would hardly be someone to break up her family

So in her dysfunctional marriage she stays

As a shadow of her former self most days…

I think an unhealthy habit I have acquired

Of clicking on icons on my screen, more than required

Of course my work demands thousands of clicks each day

I can make huge changes to patients’ lives in this way

And then there is the mindless browsing of which we all may be

In way or another, somewhat guilty

Leading to clicks that innocuous appear

But happen to hide something quite sinister

I subscribe to various websites without looking at times

Those clicks inadvertently bleed money that’s mine

With a single click anything I want can be ordered

Before I have second thoughts, the transaction has already occurred

Clicking on subscribe buttons has led

To my inbox being full of e-mails unread

Adding to the electronic clutter I despise

(With more clicks, I can unsubscribe, I surmise..)

Deeper into the world wide web each click draws me

More personal information I give away, unknowingly

More vulnerable I become to subtle manipulation

In ways unimaginable, by large corporations..

**

Let me take, from clicking a break

For my purse, and my sanity’s sake

Perhaps extra minutes I shall find

In my day, and relieve the burden on my mind..

I have to break bad news to you

I am quite apprehensive, it’s true

I don’t know your current state of mind

I doubt you’ve previously received news of this kind

Intuitively I think you know something is wrong

That worsening shortness of breath you’ve had all along

Has to be more than a cold-this you’ve realized by now

My responsibility is to tell you the diagnosis and explain how

Grim your prognosis is- to be honest

This is the part of my profession I detest…

There is no way I can predict your reaction

Worse, I only have 15 minutes for this interaction….

**

I know it sounds harsh, but I have to be clear

Sugarcoating the diagnosis would be unhelpful, I fear

The harsh truth may not register if I start

With something positive, because that’s what you would take to your heart

I know for the bad news to sink in, time you need

I wish I could spend some time commiserating with you, indeed

In euphemistic terms I could have disguised

The bitter truth, but that would be unwise

In order to move forward this hurdle has to be crossed

Accepting your diagnosis does not mean all has been lost…

**

In a world where we are socially conditioned to be polite

Talking about life and death plainly does not seem right

Yet, to formulate a treatment plan that works for you

The truth of the diagnosis you and I have to go through

**

The diagnosis I’ve told you, now I wait

For your reaction to this news unfortunate

Now is the time when you need from me

A patient ear, some time, and empathy

Available options for treatment I can present

When you are ready, you have understood the diagnosis unpleasant..

I am having a pity party today

For first world problems are blocking my way

These self-created problems prevent

My time from being gainfully spent..

**

I have been guilty, I do confess

Of acquiring new things, trying to possess

The biggest, the best, and definitely more

Of everything I can, even if I have to store

Extra stuff that does not the light of day see

Locked away, collects dust and cobwebs in plenty

**

One day, unfortunately, you realize

Neglecting all belongings has been unwise

New problems you suddenly find with things old

As you sort through unused objects, miseries unfold

Now time and money are funneled needlessly

In something that was unneeded, obviously…

**

Today I am trying to dodge this self-made noose

Blind consumerism has led to me to lose

Precious time, money and peace of mind-

To keep us trapped, possessions are designed

This is a lesson learnt the hard way

I hope I shall keep new acquisitions at bay!

Do I dare imagine, in all audacity

That age would just be a number for me?

May I dream that at the age of sixty

I would be a diva, confident and sassy?

I wonder if my gray hair and wrinkles would give me

Grace, and an air of wisdom that the world could see..

I wonder if the cumulative wealth of experience

Would lend as much charm as youthful exuberance

Sometimes these hopes of aging with grace

With fears of aging poorly do get replaced

I get anxious that more and more cynical I would be

In an increasingly divided, fractured society

I wonder if poor health would take its toll

I worry that aging would mean my downfall…

Only time will tell what life has in store

I know I have so much more

To accomplish in the next decades few

Hope I live my life, being to myself true…

People who wonder whether the glass is half empty or half full miss the point. The glass is refillable.

– Author Unknown

When I was younger I used to see

My life as a glass half empty

My present life I would view

Pessimistically, in a bluish hue

My future, on the other hand

I would imagine to be grand

All my optimism was reserved

For the future I thought I deserved

The glass that I viewed as half-empty

I expected would be filled, eventually..

**

Hurtling towards middle age these days

I have obviously changed in many ways

Many aspirations of younger years

Have been realized, others have disappeared

Comfortable at the place I am right now

In the journey of life, I view somehow

The glass as half full in my life at present

It could be filled some more, but I am content

The optimism of future has been replaced

By an optimistic present; now I face

The future prospects of aging and its ills

I must admit that pessimism sometimes fills

My heart when the future I contemplate

My life is best in my current state..

**

The gist of my rambling verse is this-

Partially full the glass of happiness always is!

Why is there this need persistent

To maintain productivity constant

To fill each waking minute, each hour

With some activity- to make me feel empowered

As if what I do alone constitutes my existence

Why does my mind give me such resistance

To the idea of being idle and staring into space

Is it societal conditioning that does not let me embrace

The concept of idling away time, a commodity precious

Or is it something more sinister, more contentious

Within me, that begs me to fill each pocket of time

With something called work, such that my mind

Can stay away from thoughts jumbled and incoherent

When I get immersed in work, I can pretend

To forget that voice inside my head

Saying good is not good enough, demanding perfection instead…

**

After contemplating on the need to stay occupied

I decided to idle away some time, risking my pride

Having free time at hand, more in control I felt

Of my life, instead of being on a constant conveyor belt

I was moving constantly without making progress

That was certainly not conducive to success

Industriousness is overrated, I dare say

Balanced breaks are the key to being productive any day..

To your ears, foreign sounds my accent

You have difficulty understanding me to some extent

I get it, and I wish you would simply ask me

To speak more slowly and deliberately

English is not my first language

Some sounds I find harder to enunciate

The way you do, but believe me when I say

I make a conscious effort to change my accent every day….

More than anything else, my accent gives me away

As a first generation immigrant, my identity it does betray

While talking to people I have seen

Frustration, anger, fascination and everything in between

I will my tongue and throat and palate

To get the elusive accent right, to enunciate

Consonants, vowels, the way you do

But I simply cannot shake off my accent, it’s true

The worst is when my accent distinctly un-American

Is misconstrued as a sign of inadequate education

And people before me start explaining things

Like they would to a child- that really stings..

**

Trying my best to change my accent

Reflects, at assimilation, my sincere attempt

But the innate accent that refuses to dissolve

Is a connection to my roots as my identity continues to evolve..

“Self-worth comes from one thing – thinking that you are worthy.” Wayne Dyer

I wonder now but why on earth

Was I looking for self-worth

Outside of me, in others’ eyes?

I did not even care if they were lies

Sugarcoated to sound cloying to my willing ears

To drown the noise of my innermost fears..

**

Why in the world did I think back in the day

That I would be more contented if I looked a certain way

I groomed myself well, lost a few pounds

That did not silence the deafening sounds

Of my inner voice screaming that I would

Remain unworthy, never amount to anything good

Why did I believe what the media portrayed

That external beauty a major role in self-worth played..

**

Why did I think that if I could appear

More erudite, more intellectual than my peers

I would feel more comfortable in my skin

I would be able to suppress that din

Of that all-too-familiar refrain

That I was an imposter, my efforts were in vain

As much knowledge as I could, I tried to acquire

It improved my self-worth some, but did not quell the fire..

**

Now with the wisdom of years and greying hair

Finally I can say that I do not care

As much about others’ opinion of me

Self-worth is internal, realizing this set me free

Whether I am well groomed, or knowledgeable

Or neither, I am finally able

To silence the dissenting voice inside

I now know my worth, I say that with pride

 

 

 

 

 

 

As an avid reader, there is something I have found

That continues to bother me, in a way quite profound-

The female lead in nearly every story

Is a beautiful woman, no matter who she might be

She might have qualities in every realm, but still

She is usually portrayed as having looks that can kill

What, I wonder, compels writers to create

A character to whom not many of us can relate?

*

Maybe when stories people conjure

Beauty has an irresistible allure

And for the qualities of a  female protagonist

Beauty appears to top the list

A female version of Quasimodo

Does not exist as far as I know

*

Even when her other virtues are celebrated

Physical beauty remains a quality elevated

Is it a natural instinct for humans to mold

Women as characters whose beauty can be extolled?

Or is it the influence of social conditioning deep-seated

That beauty as a norm is endlessly repeated?

*

There are many ways in which beauty can be defined

For me, I celebrate the beauty of a woman’s mind..

 

(Image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/371758144226620700/