Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Whom do you see?

A peaceful face when my world’s tumbling down,

A happy face with overflowing rage?

A surprise feigned at an open secret

Sympathy when I couldn't care a damn!

A beautiful mask covering the innocence

A warm smile ready to strike.

O mirror, do you ever see me?

Even in the midst of raw emotions

Why do I always wear a veil?

Fear I’ll be taunted for revealing myself,

Or bravery that I’m in control,

Only to become stone cold.

Give me the strength to be myself,

To unmask and be free.

Let the world see me

Let myself see me

For nature’s most beautifully complex creation I am,

Let my emotions complete me. 

-Prats

Which to choose?

A past that gave momentary happiness and pain thereafter

Or the present brimming with joy?

Past that was chained and bound

Or unrestrained present that lets you be?

The ghosts of the past always rise;

Will they be laid to rest

Or resurrected to haunt the present and become the future?

I wonder though….

Isn’t it the past that makes the present

Or the present that undoes the past?

Whatever it may be,

Let not the darkness of the past extinguish the present glow,

Let not the soul of the past take away the life now.

-Prats

On Children

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

                                                                                                                - Kahlil Gibran

                                                     PRATIMA

                                                           

She is the fourteenth phase of the moon descended,

Who paused reaching the fringe of the full moon.

For a slight touch of imperfection,

The earth does not hesitate to call her, her own.

On her exile on the earth

She does not wear a veil of aversion.

In the crowd of the world

She remains poised within herself;

Unperturbed in weal and woe.

Her patience is full of cheers

That dispels the presence of all anxiety.

If disease comes threatening,

A tender silent smile clings to her placid mien

Calamities like clouds,

Float not a few beneath her.

Time and again

But fail to extinguish her glow.

There is yet something lacking in her glory;

There she conceals,

Her tears,

Touched by the inkling of sadness-

Slightly perplexing.

That tiny imperfection

Is never vocal,

None can observe,

Not even those who constantly remain around her.

Unbounded heaven has recognized its bound on the earth.

Is her name Pratima (an image-like one)?

                                                                                                   

                                                                                                  -  Rabindranath Tagore

On Marriage

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 


Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. 


Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

                                                                                                                             -  Kahlil Gibran