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The Path to Now
We were shown the hills , not the mountains
Picnics by the unperturbed rivers, not the roaring, unscrupulous seas
Saw the silent rain, the thundering drops of red - concealed
Shown the hands of fathers holding our mums
Surmised, souls of lovers no one could dissever
Not the hands men raised on women, how their words they spread like injected venom
When time stopped, worlds changed, years in transit from one to another
New winters surfaced but with a haze, fog cast upon known reality as all turned to strangers
Spring arose, as did the flowers
and trees covering aplenty,
making all anomalous, particularly oneself
Summer evaporated all of me, as raging autumn winds blew by
whispers of doubt and perturbation,
Strokes of all colors on this great ‘life canvas’ of ambivalence
But today, as we look back
at the small, picturesque hills
the tranquil rivers,
the misty rain,
glimpse- the beauty in the warmth of lovers
As we remember the mighty mountains,
the belting seas,
the roaring rain,
the newfound realities,
the path with many ways...
As we recall..
Every stroke,
Every color,
Whether black or white,
Green or Gray,
that painted us
with that forevermore imperfect, perfect consistency in this perfect, imperfect world
and made us who we are today
All that comes to light is everything but…
every broken but pivotal stone embedded on the path to now,
one that went in all direction,
but from it, we never strayed
It made us who we are today
It made us who we are today…….
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This piece comprises some carefully knitted nostalgia with each thread a “pivotal stone embedded” on our journey to ‘now’ . I talk about the universally inevitable phenomenon of change and growth while describing the leap from childhood to adolescence then adulthood and finally old age.
Now a little about myself:
My name is Aaliyah Bindra , I’m a dreamer, a musicophile, a dramatist , a humanitarian, a feminist , a photographer , an artist, a singer and most of all a poet but apart from that I’m also a 14-year-old teenage girl from a small town called Chandigarh.
I believe poetry not only to be a method of communication and expression but whenever I read or write a poem , I imagine every word to be a broken shard of glass , several of which the reader pieces together by the time he reaches the end of the poem and looks at his reflection in the mirror formed by these words , truly ,a method of self-reflection that highlights the fact that every cloud has a silver lining . Whether it be finding beauty and happiness in the quick movements of a hummingbird as it jumps from one flower to another or whether it be reading about someone’s indecisive ‘Path to Now’ which contrasts both euphoria and gloominess. To conclude I will not say that poetry only makes me happy or joyful because that would be nullifying the works of the great Edgar Allen Poe (The father of gothic literature) or the world renowned Sylvia Plath all I can say is , poetry makes one ‘FEEL’, it allows us to tap into our humanity , poetry is astounding , it’s empathetic , it's cold and kind , all at the same time.