Ordinary

The cost of being ordinary
There is no glory
No attention, no remembrance
No award kept aside for you
Waking hours are punishing, but no one can see the struggle
Each day work is considered minimal, even if it is a mountain to you
You become a grain of sand, while some become the stars in the sky
Clouds shadow and rain on you, and you just take it.

The reward of being ordinary
Is that among the various constraints and boundaries of people
In the tiny spaces of each day
You get to be you.

But at the end of everything, I ask
What is the point of being ordinary
If only the extra ordinary are the treasures of mankind?
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~insight07
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Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.

Hours

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I’m tired from all this running around

In this same piece of land

I exist in twelve different forms

Three days breathe in these twenty five hours put together

Reality broken in many shards

Edges of like minds reflect in my heart.

I converse with me and others about the week

Which was a month

Which was a year

Which was a day

Which was just an hour.

Is this life or a reflection of a far fetched

But fulfilling dream?

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~insight07 •

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Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.

Red angry marks

What lies in the hole of truth?
Shrinking memories and feelings
Tightening of laces
That sinking feeling of pain
As I try to insert my feet in shoes
That don’t fit anymore.
Red angry marks of forced dressing, forced protection-
When I would rather walk bare feet for a while.
The tanned lines have faded, skin is one
Mind is in a thousand different directions.
Various colours have bled in the thoughts,
Instead of a rainbow, there is chaos.
Red angry marks of forced emotions
Sit criss crossed on my face,
Labour of limbs push and pull-
My heart is racing ahead.
A cut in the rubble
There’s fire everywhere.
Red angry marks of a loss of self
Sit staring in these words
What lies in the hole of truth?
Misery- these reflections reply.
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~insight07
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Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.

Serve

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I toil ahead with futile attempts

A pile of exasperated sighs

On which I float each day.

My feet have stopped working

They do not reach the ground anymore.

Folded into neat halves beneath my young body

I go on with this daily life.

It is a race and often I find myself stopping

Bleeding emotions and words on people who are far from mine,

Maybe being automated would be better?

I could serve this capitalist system without any hindrance at all.

I love myself, but sometimes I need a particular kind of love

That is beyond mine to take.

This need to stay in and be with my thoughts

Gather my words and broken loves

A pillow by my side, a pillow beneath my head

And a jar of crushed sighs that sings

Ocean to me.

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~insight07 •

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Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.