Words, phrases and fragments

ONE FOR US GIRLS - SARA TRIPATHI  This for is us girls, the warriors and the mothers,  The brave and the kind, The fierce and beautiful. We are born with uniqueness carving every aspect of our existence. From our head to our toes, from our heart to our brain, from our blood to our veins, and from our body to our soul. Our sole inhabitance drips in differences and uniqueness, yet when the time come our differences are the ones that unite us. We are all warriors dipped in grace, taped with elegance, and fearlessly embedded with braveness. We are all one, different names and traits, yet one. Some of us have curly locks, as crazy as a stallion. These curls that are you most valuable treasure. These are the same curls that were bared by generations of mothers and grandmothers and daughters.   Worn proudly and gracefully. These untamable locks of hair, wild and beautiful, dripping in chaos yet so complete with grace. And my child th...

THESE SCARS ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL -SARA TRIPATHI We are all born with bodies like daisy Soft, tender and delicate A little frayed around the edges and with scents of freshness. We are born with bodies like blank canvases, Waiting to be painted, with struggles of survival, With specks of sunshine happiness, with ups and downs and wrongs and rights, With beliefs, and with a gift of this life. Like everyone else’s my body was also a delicate daisy, A blank canvas, to be painted with happy colors Yellows and pinks and blues But that’s not how I’m going to paint it, For this is my body and I want it to be a display Of the struggles and wars and pain and despair, Of grief and sadness that’s a bit too much to bear. So when you see my scars, Don’t try to summon them up as beautiful. Don’t call my scars beautiful for they are not, They are the emblem engraved onto my body, An emblem, of survival and how ruthless it is, An emblem of how much grief ...

As a child I always had a hunch for broken things I never threw away my broken toys, be it broken marbles, broken pieces of plastic I never threw away broken things  I would always collect broken pieces of glass and other things ruined My mother called me the child of ruins For  I loved anything and everything a little battered and bruised, a little tattered and rough, a little broken and ruined I always had a hunch for broken things I kept and collected these pieces of glass Like they were my most valuable treasures And maybe they were I always had a hunch for broken things But as I grew up I realized this had a deeper meaning And maybe I am the child of ruins Born for darkness and rage And thunderstorms and mighty cages Maybe I was never meant for bright days and sunshine For I was bound to fall in love with dark and gloomy skies For anyone can love the mended and repaired I was the one made for broken things and despair I always ha...

WAR ZONE            - SARA TRIPATHI I am at war with myself. I am the bullets and the bombs. But I’m also the one who mourns. I was born in a world of broken thrones and distant dreams. Nothing could help me, for I no longer dream. I built some bridges and then burnt each one down until; the fire melted my flesh and gave me wounds. I planted daisy seeds in a war field; I watched them bloom for i wanted to see how long vulnerable things can last. I watched those daisies die, covered in blood of things that no longer cry. Daisies died and so did a part of me, my sensitive heart turned as cold as arctic breeze. In that moment I made myself forget everything I believed and gave myself up to destiny and captivity I became a prisoner of my own mind as I watched a part of my soul die every time . Blamed fate for tearing me apart but it wasn’t the fate that did me wrong, it was me, the girl who self destructed her soul. ...

Sometimes when you’ve lost yourself completely, and you’re not living anymore, but the world still turns, think about the ordinary; like your everyday morning coffee and its smell, how it bubbles and brews while you stand leaning on the countertop humming a tune – far old than you are- under your breath and the beams of sunlight that enter through your window blinds because you forgot to close the blinds again, and the way your sheets smell like spilled coffee, and you favorite scented candle and like your and like you. Think about the regular and ordinary because there something beautiful about ordinary, something comforting, ordinary is home and it’s the home that we forget about.Ordinary is beautiful and it’s safe and sometimes safe is everything our heart desires. So when you are sitting on the subway, trying too hard to just merge into your seat, with all the chaos and traffic and crowd, think about your mother cooking you favourite food or your dog jumping at you when you ...

We say fragile like it’s a bad thing, we say fragile as if it something you shouldn't be. But don’t you see how utterly brave it is to be fragile and vulnerable and still survive in this cruel world, how one breaks and then breaks apart some more and then just as fiercely picks up the pieces and puts them back together and gets thriving. How they take back their broken pieces from the hands of the world and mould themselves back into the person they were before thing cruel world and its cruel beings laid a finger on them, how they take a sand paper and tame their rough edges and soften the pointy ends and all because even if the world does destruct them there wouldn’t be any collateral damage from their side and if that isn’t the strongest most fiercest thing to do then I don’t what is. Being fragile the bravest thing anyone could do, falling apart and falling in and never once hardening even though they have every reason to do so, being kind and showing emotions, crying and ...

Pluto. It was a planet once. But then suddenly it wasn't.  One day people just decided that Pluto doesn't fit in with the definition of planets, and then declared it will no longer suffice as a planet. Look at pluto now, ignored and outcasted, no one pays attention to it, it's alone in galaxy full of mysterious things, it's alone because we decided it's worth even though we had no right to. And as it's said we treat people how we treat things, how we take one look at someone and are quick to decide their worth, but we don't know their story nor do we know their struggles. We don't know what they've been through or what they are going through, they are as strange to us as the mysterious of this galaxy, they are uncanny but again so are we. What I've learned is we all are Plutos, at times outcasted, misfits and all lone. We all are Plutos, unattended and uncanny, we all are Plutos, beautiful and entrancing. And what I've realized is that if w...

//often I feel I'm stuck in some kind of a void, a sort of abyss maybe. Because you see on some days I can actually see myself being happy and living and loving and feeling alive and those are I suppose bad days to me, and on some days I feel empty, hollow, and my body feels inescapable and so does my mind and this life is nothing but the time I'm passing before I'll die, I like to label those days neither good nor bad, because they are just days there's nothing more to them, they are neither relevant nor irrelevant they are just there, just like me, like they don't have any option but to be there. And those days feel like the most vast stretch of time, like they keep on going and going, those days make me doubt that theory of relativity does not only belong to space but also to be as a human and in those hollow, untitled, non-labeled days I age more than I age in year, perhaps it's just me all this doesn't even make sense but you see it's not suppose...