Do I have a personality?

Do I have a personality?
I grew up feeling none.
I kept wanting one.

I saw some as persons happy
But I felt lot of thoughts unhappy
I saw some as being persons assured
But I felt unsure of what really mattered
I saw some as being persons positive
But I felt I needed lot more perspective
I saw some wearing their wealth on them
And I felt the need to become abundant
I saw some wearing their success on them
But I felt I really wish I had a passion
I sought to be truthfully joyful
But I felt lot of things to be untruthful

I simply only wanted my own personality
Yet I tried every which way to fit in
Also learned some tricks to blend in
Wherever I Be I became that one
Except it became difficult to keep up

Do I have a personality?
Now supposedly a grown-up
I am not sure I have one

A new friend in conversation
In complete awe of my hard-core choices
Called me in myself an institution
And visiting me a few days later
Found me a sobbing mess of confusion
Befuddled she told me
“Never imagined You could become this”
I confided in her honestly
I needed the friend in her
As much as she used the one in me.
She probed further if I had ever cried
For those times such and such
I said yes I did
When at times I became human as much

This kind friend then exhorted me
That I should be wearing all that I am
And walk out in the world head held high
Gain some confidence and personality

Veracity in the moment doesn’t allow me
To wear anything external on me
I am that I am and I wonder what I am
I live in an attempt of absolute integrity
In all the roles that can be called of me
I show up with confidence or confusion
It is me in that moment feeling fluidly
The only corrugation is of my intention

So now do I have a personality?
You tell me which one you see in me
So do I need a personality?
Or I could just Be what I have come to Be.

 

P.S. Dear Debbie, I gladly contribute this poem to ForgivingFridays, as a gesture of forgiveness for everywhere we judge ourselves for what we are. Thank you for being here.

 

Art of Creation

An artist picks up a paintbrush
To create a view
Knows intently each color and every hue

An artist of life, similarly
Picks up from a palette of emotion
Lends a hand to Creation
Knows each one very intensely
Pain & Joy, Anger & Love, Fear & more
In all their potency
Has felt them all to the core

Picks up on the shades of feeling
As they keep emerging
Knows exactly what would appear on the canvas of life

Both are very skilled at knowing
When to put down the brush or use some more …

When peace eludes

When peace eludes
When purpose seems to lose
When perspective is at ruse
When promises don’t produce
When possibilities simply refuse

Then give up control
Then give up the crawl up the wall
Then give up the stickiness of it all
Then give up the judgment tall
Then give up the unkindness of it all

When the train is stopped on track
When the brain is blocked on black
When the mind doesn’t cut slack
When heart is feeling the break-n-crack

Then the flood of emotions moisten
Then the time is to wait and listen
Then the path as if waiting to glisten
Then the anguish will eventually lessen

When the peace eludes
When the turmoil is profuse
When all the trial is in recluse
When the denial is abstruse

Then the calling is from the Being
Then self compassion is the Seeking
Then the gift is simply in the Breathing
Then love is what helps only from Within
Then more beauty is what breaks Open

P.S. Dear Debbie, please accept this poem as my contribution to ForgivingFridays. I wish to bring forgiveness to all the judgment we bring to ourselves for not being good enough. Thank you for creating the beautiful space to bring peace and forgiveness to our beings.

Just how did the writer in me get born?

When drippings from a touched soul find their way in writing
A poet is born

When the beauty is undying and the joy so fulfilling
A poem is born

When feelings are heart wrenching and clarity is killing
A poem is born

When a surge comes as discomfort and words pour out
A writer is born

When the harmony felt is such that there is no choice but rhyme
A poem is born

When made-up words bring meaning and no-rhyme verse feels musical
A poetry is born

When living alive to feelings, words come to life
A writer is born

When clarity becomes more intense than the pain that afforded it
A writer is born

When no human around can suffice to contain the expression
A poetry is born

When a release is looking to flow out at an unearthly hour
A writer is born

When words choose the person as if a channel
A writer is born

When none can be planned to rhyme or reason
A poet is born

When human spirit gets broken to million-times-ten pieces, yet finds beauty
A poet is born

When Life decides to peel back layers of truth down to the core
A writer is born

When each level of façade is stripped down to bare soul
A writer is born

When all the suffering was a gift, lived through or let through
A writer is born

When there is no knowing if there is more from where it came from
A writer is reborn

When it comes from a place that is hard to own
A writer is born

When the essence of being is wrung out in best expression
A poetry is born

When it feels like a soft glove over the brutal thing
A poetry is born

When the loneliness in truthfulness is more than can enjoy yet
A writer is born

When inspirations come out of nowhere as if universal cues
A poet is born

Every story a writer writes may not be the writer’s story
But then the writer lives within herself
A thousand lives or the stories of lifetimes
Often that of all of humankind

So if you can just rest
In the drippings of the writers’s soul
Momentarily let go off the sufferings you insist on
A writer would feel content for being born.

Life of the Day

Night is the death of the Day
Sleep like you are contently dead to the day

Dawn is the life of a new Day
Wake up not to the same life of yesterday

Both need conscious choices in the day
While staying content where you are Today

When innocence thinks deep

Last year I had posted the following from my then 10 year old son: His innocent reflection on his journey of acceptance about being the shortest around, for his age.

https://pragalbhadoshi.wordpress.com/2016/04/28/tall-small/

This week he said to me “Mom, I have 3 poems that I have written on some of my experiences. Can I have my own blog site to publish them?” I promised him that for now I would publish them on my site. If you have any thoughts on his work, please let him know 🙂

Work!
Do you really have so much work

Or do you just feel you have too much work

Do you have so much work

Or are you fooling around with mirth.

 

Do you really have so much work

Or are you just going with a quirk

Did you ever have too much work

Or do you just at your desk lurk

 

Do you wish you didn’t have any work

And just acting like a jerk

 

Don’t worry about how much

Keep focus and work as much

Don’t bother or struggle as such

Just be done and play as much
————————————————————-

Think good!

When you think about something bad
You might just feel very sad
When you don’t think about something good
You won’t be in a good mood.

If you think that it’s sad
You might get really mad
If you think of something that’s great
You might have a better fate.

 When you always think bad
You may not be known as a good lad
If you think that it will be good
It probably surely would.

————————————————————

 

 Fun time?

When you’re doing something fun

You don’t want to be done

When you’re doing something boring

You would rather be snoring.

 

When you’re doing something fun

You can’t tell when you should be done

When you’re doing something you don’t enjoy

Your time just doesn’t go by

 

When you’re doing something you like

It feels like you’re riding a bike

When you don’t feel like doing something

It feels better to go take a hike

_ By Sanved Doshi, 11 yrs.

 

 

P.S. Sanved is very happy to make this post a contribution to ForgivingFridays, a wonderful blog by dear Debbie.

My greatest hurt

If you lie to me and I have no clue
I guess I am innocent, and so are you
I, to the ways you wish to deceive
You, to the ways I wholly perceive

If you lie to me and I feel it
Yet I hold space for you with love
To live out that lie truthfully,
I am seeing you way above
Your need to lie to me

If you lie to me and I come to know of it
And you knew I needed to trust you
That is when I experience what I must
Untruthfulness is my greatest hurt

If I have ever been cause for your pain
I sincerely hope it is because of a truth
I know how heartbreakingly  a lie can cut
Untruthfulness is my greatest hurt