“What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”
From a musical,
this line felt like I was coming home,
Where thoughts soared high,
and imagination roamed,
Now it’s wedged into the crevices,
and now it’s buried in cracks,
An ode to this stubborn heart of mine,
that struggles to relax.
I wrote this once, and I'll write it again
"There is nothing more potent than the stories we tell ourselves"
And maybe because,
My childhood was nurtured,
in a home full of tales,
A sanctuary of books,
where my soul still prevails,
Few friends were present,
but I found comfort in the pages,
Some of which stuck to me,
and withstood throughout the ages.
Fairytales, sword fights, and witchcraft spells,
Snow White, the nutcracker, and Notre Dame's wedding bells.
The parables from my Father was my Sunday school staple,
Now seemed lackluster tales, gathering dust, under the table.
When adulthood sinks in,
bringing internal storms to swell,
Life feels unbearable,
at times a living hell,
The skies could turn cruel,
and you would feel it in your bones,
Waters start to rise,
and you’re helpless, facing unknowns.
My world this April, will revolve around the PLANTING.
After ENDURING a season to till,
Divine strength, divine grace,
an invitation to be STILL,
My soul can’t seem to have fathomed,
the totality of being ENOUGH,
Easily getting swayed from side to side,
when the waves become too rough.
How could we all be so marupok,
of all the empty promises of this world?
Its requirements are to flex, to fix, to fit,
And stomach the impact of what is hurled.
As this little girl grew up,
She tried, and tried, and tried,
To fill in the moulds,
To jump through the hoops,
And tick all the boxes,
Taking care of her troops
From protégé,
To Anti-hero,
To a walking dead lady,
The proverbial prodigal
Came running home,
In a lazy field of daisies.
Her misadventures of seeking approval,
from all directions, left and right,
Finally came to a halt,
After losing herself in the limelight.
Unaware that this hazy phase, like a falling star,
Would birth God-given peace, passion, and purpose from the heavens afar,
Leading her on a journey she could never have foreseen,
Through trials and hardships, to a place where she can glean.
These clichés you must have heard:
"The grass is greener on the other side"
You need to be quick to jump ship,
And anticipate the turning of the tide,
Or "the grass is greener where you water it"
So you relentlessly pursue,
But you flood your ground with wrong motives,
Until resentment blocks your view.
This little girl does not walk on eggshells anymore.
Her soles are now free
from broken shards of glass,
Her toes are scrubbed clean,
from burns and scars of the past.
She's pressing her feet
on holy sacred ground,
Planting wisdom, peace, and patience,
Beaming with radiance all around.
She'll prosper in her prayers,
Her pockets will be blessed,
So blessed to bless others,
Having more than enough to rest.
The month of PLANTING has come to a RISE
His boundless love takes root,
She no longer pursues the wrong things,
because she is the pursuit.