Make Peace

 Make peace with the battles 

You fought so hard

But did not win.

Make peace with the struggles 

You tried with your best

But did not come out clean.

Make peace with the silence 

You always tried to speak about

But never dared to open your mouth.

Make peace with your heart

For not always siding with your mind 

But learned to be kind.

Make peace with person

You always wanted to be

But did not become.

Make peace with your "what if's"

You tried so much to justify 

Until then, you will be satisfied

Trouble in the Old Town

 There's trouble in the old town

And the whistle 

Is waiting to be blown.

They killed the Mockingbird 

Only for the Mockingjay 

To be born.

They made the perfect crime

Troubles and troubles

In the heart of the old town,

They're enjoying the show

Just in time when the whistle 

Is finally blown.

P.s. 

A lot of people (I know) are so blatantly condemning corruption inside politics, shame on them! They don't look at themselves, they're busy joining the social media posting their disgust, when in fact, they are the very same people who are corrupt in their very own jobs. Shame, shame on you!

P.p.s.

Don't confuse the scheming corruption in your job as a blessing from God to sustain your needs/wants. If you think that way... Then you are mentally broke.

Of the White Dress Unworn

 But we love dark things 

From afar. 

They seem beautiful 

And Mysterious, 

Noctivagant.

But not until it gets us.

Moving in shadows,

Devouring our light.

A wraith in waiting 

With Opaline eyes.

And in the dark that veils us,

We yearn once more

To be there in the distant,

Just Watching 

With the moonlight.

But as we walk in silence,

Like a ghost in prayer,

We learn that

Freedom comes 

In different enigmatic ways.

Freedom is acceptance 

That some things 

Are just numinous dream,

We cannot dare to claim.

They are meant to be elusive.

Freedom is forgiveness 

Even without an apology.

For it is a waste of time

To wait for something 

That may never come.

Freedom is parading 

That long white dress

You did not wear,

For some shameful reasons 

You no longer care.

Freedom is wearing 

Your silver shoes 

Meant for the altar.

But now you're walking it

In the pavements of your street.

Like vellichor and withered pages,

Yellowed book from ash and age,

You yearn and learn all the same.

And slowly as your heart breaths 

You kiss your grief goodbye.