Meal reminds of many things. When I went through the writings, I found how everyone personified hungry people roaming in the roads for food. I felt heart warming that people think about them. But every writing talks about that. I thought, "Why people cannot remember anything happy?"
When someone says meal to me, I will remember my UG lunch hours where we group of 11 people draw benches together, attach them. Turn and face each other. Open our boxes, discuss the menu and change the box. Share, eat and talk. I remember my m packing another box for my batchmate because she loves the dish. "Potpourri" culture which began in many places to make people connect. Food is the only thing connect people from different walks of life.
I have seen and been part of marriages, where they call orphan children to have delicious three days meal in marriages. NGO's take care of people who stay in road and provide them with food. They connect.
I know your dark circles and the people behind them. I know your straight lined face, and the emotions behind them. I know your wide open smiles, and the more genuine tears behind them.
I know the nights you text "goodnight" aren't often the nights that are good to you. I know the days you wake up, texting "good morning" are the days you wish were really good.
I know the people you send hearts to, both the beating one, and colored ones are the people you wish would be there when your heart lacks colors. I know you see the sky, in a few hard moments and wish you were anything about you.
I know you wish to be someone people loved coming back to, and not easy enough to leave like an envelope gets delivered under doors, only to be ripped. I know, you also know that such envelopes manage to carry the truest of love written in letters.
I know you have seen pain upfront, like a friend who sleeps next to you, whose snores keep you awake many a night. And I know, try as you may, no number of pillows or blankets help you cover its voice. And, I know you know, that it is because you let it have a voice and let yourself be the echo.
I know you want to be free. I know you want to quit. I know you look at the sky, the soil and nature and whisper your struggles to the wind, in hopes it shall reach another stranger and the wind shall carry back a stranger's message to you. And, I want you to let me be that stranger to you.
The wind has been kind enough to let me in on how your heart feels heavy, even when left empty and how your life seems like a rollercoaster that you never wanted to ride.
Trust me, love, I know all that and more. But, I also know that the pain you face isn't the only thing that defines you.
I know you have faced a lot, and I know you have fought a lot, while losing many. But, the sky is still yours. It hasn't given up on showering you its blue stare, even when your skin turned red. Let its showers wash away pain, but not the scars they leave behind.
I know you own stories along your skin, and I want you to know that they aren't meant to end with pain, but begin with them. The fullstops you yearn aren't the endings your heart deserves, because trust me when I say, beating through the dark isn't something all hearts can do, and yours did.
I know this letter is long. I know this letter sympathises more than it should. But, I just want you to know, this too shall pass only if you let it to. Allow pain in. Let it break you. And the voids it leaves are the places you must fill in with life.
And, whenever you see the wind brush against you, I hope you be this stranger that I am to you, and I hope you tell them how you know they are a soul of glass, not because they break easily but because light finds it easy to pass through them, just like through you, too.
Love, A stranger :) _____________________________________ _thoughtfulbrain
Just a reminder to all the Beautiful soul here that *you are love*❤️also I don't want likes I just want that people atleast read this post once :)
I see a world around me A world so colourful I see humans admiring the various different hues But I sometimes wonder Why am I not admired?
Why do they wear me when they mourn the dead? Why do they wear me when they are registering protest? Why am I always the one They associate with sorrow? Why is that I am not the symbol of a bright tomorrow?
They look down upon me They discriminate my existence They blame me for my colour Even if it's just the melanin Am I always to lurk in the shadows? While green gets to dance in meadows.
Look at yellow, how happy it seems They look at him And they exclaim! Oh bright and sunny Look at pink and its admirers They go gaga over those pretty little blushes They see red and they see seductive While I am so repulsive!
It is unfair and it hurts me I am called names and it kills me I am dark, I am evil I am the spawn of the devil Even magical is diabolical when It is black magic! Tell me why not red magic or Blue magic or white magic?
Humans abhor me, despise me They loathe me and detest me They manufacture creams to rid me from their skin And they kill other humans if I still live under their skin I am equated with poverty and I dwell upon vulnerability
Everyone praises the night But, they praise the moon, and the glistening starlight No one says - "Oh look how beautiful darkness is" or "I am excited to see pitch black" They only curse me under the breath If the desired colours a picture should lack
I am black and this is my rant I do this so that my wish be grant Try me with some love and confidence I promise to be more than dire and tense I can outshine colours gaudy and loud And rest assured I will make you proud Give me a chance and cut me some slack You'll see that black too can be a real snacc
Tell the boomers i said hey! I'm afraid they'll hate me for this.
Seriously tho, why do people insist absurd customs and traditions? Yes, it represents our past, but what about our present? It's time to love whoever we want, lead whatever fate we want, and do things with fewer restrictions.