You could feel it in my voice,or even amidst the noise in my silently breaking self

And the scars on my hands ache so badly that the pain is so bald

Scars of holding on to what was never there in pursuit of finding something I thought to be ‘rare’

And down races my heart in fury when I look around and see what life has put me through

Try and peep,I’m sure you can see something too..

The disappointments ,the hatred ,the love …but I refuse to be called a victim of circumstances

I refuse to be called weak…

But then ,the tears on my eyes,the last note I left to my dear mama,and the bottle of whisky in my hand to drown my ‘sorrows’ – they all laugh at me in unison  “the broken one” and I could almost hear those words echo in the silent darkness of my ears…but I refuse to be called broken because right through this mirror I’m staring into ;

I see someone strong,not broken

I see a fighter,not a fallen warrior 

I see a breakthrough,not a trodden on failure…

I see just beyond what you all think..

Yes,many a times we’ve been hurt

Sometimes even completely left to fall a part

But I’m only broken once 

Twice is a lesson…Thrice is a STRENGTH




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