Jammed.

Jammed. Unbudgeable like the old, rotten wooden window frame that’s stuck after a heavy rainstorm.

Memories are easy to make. They often choose you but are tough to shake off. They won’t fade until they have taken every single ounce of your soul.

Broken. Like shattered glass.

Splinters strewn. Uncountable, out to draw blood.

Unhinged mind. Fragmented souvenirs. Every time you touch upon them or try to gather it all, they end up searing through your soul.

Musty. Damp, dank smell of stagnancy.

Never moving, rigid and permeating.

When the mind is stuck, the rut seems too deep. The walls close in, slowly but unfalteringly.

I have been stuck in a rut for a while now, three years to precise. Maybe longer. Each time, I feel I am drowning, I have quit whatever I am doing but stayed put. I did not think of addressing the elephant in the room. Until recently. At least, I am aware of my affliction now. I am still not doing anything about it but the walls aren’t closing in. It’s a long road ahead.

Picture courtesy: lifegiva.com

Wildflower Child

I am sorry.

For many things,

I misled you to believe.

Sorry, I truly am.

For I am not weak.

Nor fragile, delicate or beautiful.

You can’t bruise me,

Flatten, trample or pluck me swiftly.

For I am a wildflower,

Borne from the core,

Simple yet difficult,

Common but not easily found.

For I have braved the winds

And lashes of rain,

I have heard the mountains tremble

And the earth dissemble.

For I am the wildflower,

Deeply rooted in the earth within.