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Life Alight

Unfolding life's mysteries with poetry, photography & ramblings

Yours Sincerely

I trust you, sincerely, truly.
I know you, my heart knows you.
No distance in time and space
will change who you are to me.
To trust someone so openly
No reservations, no second thoughts.
A trust that sets alight a sense
of freedom unparalleled, you take flight.
It’s not words, no senseless displays.
Its just simply trust, so absolutely
It seems a miracle, a deep seated truth
I would have overlooked but it has a
Hold of my heart.
And so I find I am in love.

Yours sincerely,
Khushbo.

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Selfish


We all are
With our time
With our fortune
With our dreams
With our affections

Choosing to share
Choosing to take
Choosing to forget
Tirelessly reaching
As we step on everyone
That gets in the way.

Lets party,
Lets drink to joys
Had standing on broken hearts

Smile,smile we are happy.
We are all that matter
Until that moment where
We stand alone glass in hand.

Success, success.
Admire me now.

By Khushbo
Copyright @Lifealight 2017

Not Human

Can’t feel
The difference
Between reality
Between day dreams
Made to cure reality.

Am I here?
Am I lost?
Selfish to share my sadness
Selfish to keep it to myself

Your personal battles matter
Mine are the same story over
Redundant, ‘Oh well’, move on.

Judge me forget me
Need me, use me.
All the same now
Not like I am human.

Just a portrait of
What you need me to be.

By Khushbo
Copyright @Lifealight 2017

Song of Silence

Lying in the lyrics of silence
Are many words left unsaid.
Many truths left hidden.

Yet the strongest words
The loudest answers;
Lie here in simple silence.

The deepest yearnings,
The heaviest hopes,
This fortress of broken hearts
Hides many emotions.

If only you would listen
To the whispers that no one heard,
Where so many stories lie buried.

Yearning to be sung aloud.

By Khushbo

Copright Lifealight @2017.

My Hero

As I rise from the musk of hardships,
Of days gone by in hopes of brighter dawns.
I am told to wait on a hero.

Who will gather my tears,
Hold my dreams up high,
Learn the sensitivities of my heart.

Swear upon a million stars to keep my heart,
Sacred and unscathed.
Through all the grinding days to come.

It’s just, there is no hero.
No Knight in shinning Armour
headed my way.

I am just a tiered warrior,
Who has taken off her Armour to breathe;
And follow a mirage.

Rest is over, the mirage vanishes.
I ride out once again at first light,
My sword aimed ahead as I charge.

I am my one and only hero.

By Khushbo.
Copyright @Lifealight 2016.

This Moment I live

In my chase of moments
Yet to come,
I drown fixing problems
I have yet to face.

This is my moment,
My only moment
To live;
I have lost:

Life.

-Khushbo
Lifealight Copyright @2016

Oh Wise Tree

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

-Hermann Hesse, Baume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Ask My Story

Every passing person carries
A story woven intricately with
Emotions, moments never forgotten.
All connected together like a web.

The thoughts that run through
Every mind that walks past me.
I wonder at the people they miss,
The life they have lived.

Things they would stop to tell,
Faces animated with the true story
Behind the narrative of what happened.
If only I had the courage to ask.

By Khushbo

Copyright @2016 Lifealight

 

Waiting

Everyday seems I am reminded
Of the time, the minutes, the seconds passing
As the clock ticks, never stopping.

In a time where there are no worries,
No stops, no heartbreaks, no turns.
I would like to stop and breathe.

I would like to see hope come true,
I would like to see it all be worth it,
I would like for time to stop.

And not ask of me to worry
About the next moment,
The next day, the next month.

Waiting to live, just for today.
For me alone.

– Khushbo
Lifealight Copyright @2016

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